


Axiom

by knlalla



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Depression, Fluff, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Speed Dating, Strangers to Lovers, but forreal the worst thing here is the plot trope, like almost reality but not quite, nothing too awful though, warning: really horrible plot trope i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-22 04:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13756047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knlalla/pseuds/knlalla
Summary: Axiom: a proposition that is not actually proved or demonstrated, but is considered to be self-evident and universally acceptedDan's out for the umpteenth time at the bar for its weekly speed-dating night (not that they'd actually call it that).





	1. Parallel

“I hate these things,” I say. Which isn’t really true, especially when it gets me the attention of one or more attractive guys. Still, I cross my arms and lean back on a heel, trying to portray an air of aloof disinterest.

“No, you don’t,” Louise chirps beside me, smacking my shoulder as we loiter around in the entrance of the bar - it’s closed for the speed-dating event, so she’s only lingering long enough to see me off. 

“No,” I sigh, “I guess I don’t,” my eyes wander the pickings for the evening, bouncing from head to head in the hopes of finding someone that draws my attention - a fair few meet my usual standards, and of those, about half meet my gaze as well. Of _those_ , it’s only a pair of bright blue eyes that hold my stare long enough that _I’m_ the one turning away first. 

When I lean over to comment to Louise - I trust her to help me ferret out potential matches - I’m met with an empty space and a cool rush of air from the door behind me. _Thanks, just leave me to the wolves, then._ Though there are several wolves here whose teeth I wouldn’t mind on my skin.

 _Keep it in your pants, focus on the event first._ It’s been _months_ since my last proper relationship - if you could even call it that - and _weeks_ that I’ve been coming to these ‘meet-ups’ (they won’t call it speed dating, for fear of the connotation associated with the term). There’s usually a half hour of general socializing followed by just under an hour of ‘seven minutes in heaven’, where - much like with speed dating - we’re sat with a handful of different matches in turn to see if we’re compatible.

I’ve yet to get past a few one-night stands.

As I lean against a wall, still too anxious to force myself into conversation, someone approaches first - I typically show up late, once the speed-dates are about to start, so that I can avoid having to fake casual social competency, but here I am. _Thanks, Louise._

“Hey,” the guy’s voice is bright, and he’s got irises that match - green in a way that reminds me of the outdoors. “First time?” He’s standing close, beer in hand, and smiling up at me - up, because of _course_ I have to be several inches taller than this guy, which sucks because he’s pretty damn hot. 

“Nah,” I add a shrug for good measure, “just usually can’t make it til the…” I break off, gesturing at the tables the staff is setting up, unsure how he’d take it if I called them speed dates - I try not to offend anyone off the bat, if I can help it. _They_ are _speed dates, though._

“Ah, fair enough,” he takes a sip of his beer. I decide I shouldn’t have to endure this without a drink of my own, so I take a hesitant step and gesture toward the bar, about to excuse myself. “Oh! Let me get you something,” the guy offers, walking alongside me as my feet stutter forward.

“You don’t...uh, thanks,” I give a tight smile. _The bedroom is about the only place I’m not this awkward._ I pause beside the bar, subduing my momentary frown when the guy orders me a beer. 

“My pleasure,” his lips curl in a smirk, eyes dropping from mine and very obviously checking me out; it sends my heart racing. _Fuck, I hope I’m paired with him tonight._ The system is random, matches made just before the event itself based on who shows up, but there have been more than a few times I felt I’ve missed out on someone. _He’d better not be a missed chance._

As if summoned by my thoughts, the event coordinator calls everyone over to the area where the tables have been set up, and I offer the guy a smile as I take the icy bottle from his hand and join the crowd near the entrance.

“Alright, for anyone who’s been here before, you know the drill!” The woman’s voice is commanding, and I’m reminded of Louise, though she’s more a bubbly blonde where this lady exudes the air of a military general corralling her troops. “If you’re new, here’s how it works: half of you have been assigned a seat for the evening, the other half will be moving after each round. Those with assigned tables can go find them now, it should be on the sticker you got when you arrived.” 

Half the group shuffles to the numbered tables - I stay standing, cradling the beer in my hands and waiting for the next set of instructions, though I already know what I’m meant to do. Droplets of condensation coat my palms, and I wipe one on my jeans as a method of distraction.

“Great, now the rest of you should have a list of numbers, your tables for the evening. Just follow the list, and you’ll be set!” When only a few people begin to move, she waves her arms, ushering the rest of us along. I hang back, scanning for the close-cropped blond hair of the guy I’d met earlier.

Apparently, he spots me before I find him, already grinning at me from his table - _seven_. I run through my list, heart thumping in my chest when I see it second to last. _Fuck yes._ I quirk my lips up in what I hope is a teasing sort of smile, then find my first table for the evening, number eleven.

 _He’s alright._ It’s my first thought about the man sat across from me, and it turns out to be true throughout the entire seven minute period - he’s just _alright_. Nice enough, but we don’t have much in common, and he doesn’t appear offended when I stand at the end of the round and offer him nothing more than a tight smile.

My next table is three, and I hang back for a moment as the person before me vacates his spot. He’s standing slowly, only jumping out of the way when the guy at the table glances in my direction. 

“Oh! Sorry,” bright blue eyes meet mine behind pitch black fringe, then the guy’s gone and I slide into his seat. _Was that the same guy from earlier?_ I hum, lost in thought for a moment, before the guy across from me clears his throat.

It’s equally _alright_ , but the he seems far more enthusiastic than I am, and the conversation is full of forced smiles and laughs at comments I don’t really find funny. When the timer goes off and we’re told to switch again, the guy - Brent - asks for my number. I’m far too awkward to say no. 

As I make my way to table eight, my next for the evening, I notice an increasingly familiar crop of black hair as it rushes from the seat. _How funny, two tables in a row._ When I sit, I have to fight back a grimace - this guy seems...I’m not usually one to judge _solely_ on looks, but he has a creepy vibe about him. Johnny’s his name, apparently, and all I can think of during our uncomfortable conversation is the film ‘The Shining’. _I guess that’s why the other guy was in such a hurry to leave._

I follow suit, rushing off to table five the moment I hear the timer, barely bothering to toss a quick “thanks and bye” over my shoulder as I go. I kind of feel bad, but not enough to actually _do_ anything about it. 

Once again, I find myself in the wake of the same blue eyes and black hair I’ve been one table behind all night, and a small chuckle escapes my lips. He’s already standing, a pained smile distorting his features before he notices me. I almost miss the slight widening of his eyes, the pursing of his lips, before he turns toward his next destination. _Wonder what that was for…_

Again, I immediately get a bad vibe from the guy at the table - it’s not the same as Johnny, who was so off-putting that I had trouble holding a conversation, but more...subtle. Peter, who’s name is nicer - no strange references run through my head, anyway - seems on the surface to be an engaging and charismatic guy. But his sentences end on weirdly possessive notes, and his gaze turns a strange kind of cold - dark, but erring on the side of sinister, not the side of sexual. I try to give him a chance, doing my best to laugh off the strange feeling in my chest, but it doesn’t go away for the full seven minutes. _Did that other guy try to warn me? Is that what that look was for?_ If so, he hit it pretty spot on - I wouldn’t want to meet this guy in a dark alley, because I get the feeling he’d put on a friendly show that would lead to an unsavory ending.

When he asks for my number, I beg off with the excuse that I’m not looking for a relationship right now. Which earns me a confused look, followed by a glare, and I rush to my next table as quickly as I can. _That was_ by far _the stupidest excuse I could’ve possibly come up with, as I sit at a speed-dating event which caters exclusively to people, y’know, looking for a fucking relationship_.

I have to stifle a nervous laugh - somewhere between surprised at the circumstances and still on edge from the last two matches - when I notice the _same guy as before_ standing up from my next table. He looks over, clearly startled by my outburst, before breaking out into a grin of his own.

His mouth opens just slightly, like he’s about to say something, when a voice interrupts.

“Hey there, stranger,” it’s the person at the table, who I belatedly realize is the guy who bought me a drink earlier. _The drink I abandoned after the second table..._ I have three seconds to feel guilty as I slide into my seat before glancing up to find him just smiling at me.

“Uh, hey,” I smile back, though it feels awkward in the wake of the bubble of laughter from a moment ago. 

“I’m Jake, by the way,” he offers, sticking a hand across the table, and I reach mine out. _Yeah, this is weird._ Nobody ever really shakes hands during these things. Or maybe they do, and I’ve just yet to encounter it - either way, I’m at a loss until his hand closes around mine.

Then my arm - thank _god_ for its length - is drawn farther across the table, and the blond - _Jake_ \- presses a kiss to the back of my hand before releasing it. I swear my face catches on fire, and my heart doubles its pace.

“Uhm, Dan,” I manage after a stunned silence, but Jake’s still smiling, taking another sip of his beer. It’s almost empty, but his eyes are still clear and focused. 

We talk, mostly about him, for the full seven minutes - though we don’t share many interests, he’s frequently pulling me back in with both his words and his lips, and I find myself having to ask him to repeat his question more times than I care to count. _Fuck, I hope he asks for my number. I don’t know if I have the balls to give him mine. Maybe I should just-_

The timer goes off, and Jake fixes a heated gaze on me before holding out his hand again. Hesitantly, I reach for it, but he chuckles and shakes his head.

“Your phone,” he nods at his hand, “you need my number,” I let out a soft ‘oh’ before fumbling in my pocket and giving it over. _Wow, I’m surprised I didn’t drop it, I could swear my nerves have my whole body shaking._

I smile down at the contact when I get my phone back, which says ‘ _hot guy from the bar (Jake)_ ’, and he flashes me a mischievous smirk before actually _shooing_ me onto the next table.

It takes a power I didn’t know I possessed not to text him right then. _As soon as we leave, though..._ I’m giddy at the thought. For fear my willpower will disintegrate, I put my phone away and do my best to focus.

The next table, the last for the evening, is number two. I almost don’t notice when the black-haired guy stands, clearly just finishing his round, and grins at me again. _Yeah, funny,_ I think, though I’m not sure my face conveys it. I’m too focused on the phone now burning a hole in my pocket.

For the life of me, through the _entire conversation_ , I can’t remember this guy’s name. He seems nice enough, chatting amicably about his own interests - film? - as I nod and offer ‘I see’ and ‘right’ whenever it seems appropriate. Unfortunately for him, he’s got the same piercing green eyes that Jake does, and I can’t focus on anything he’s actually saying. _Maybe Jake’s free tonight, after this…_

“Dan?” My name pulls me from my thoughts to the guy across from me, who - unlike me - has actually managed to remember his match’s name. _Shit._ “Look, it’s fine,” he smiles sympathetically, leaning back in his chair, “I get it, I’m the last match of the night, no harm done if you’re not that into it.”

I’m saved from having to actually respond by the final timer going off, and the guy just gives me a quick nod before standing himself and heading toward the exit. _And I’m a complete and utter dick..._ I decide that - since he hadn’t really seemed mad - I’ll consider that mistake has ultimately been forgiven. _Besides, I have more...oh._

I’m just standing, turning toward the door, when I catch the glimpse of a blond head brush past the crowd and out the door. _Guess he’s busy._ My heart sinks a little, though I know it’s not really fair - everyone here has a life outside of this little event, and I’m sure he’s no different. 

I take a few lackluster steps forward, then a breath, then more confident ones. _It’ll do me no good to be disappointed, I_ did _get his number, after all._ Several others are already pushing out onto the street and I slip easily into the flow. Apparently, most everyone else has no plans for the evening - _or only just made plans now_ \- as they’re all hanging around right outside the bar.

 _Yeah, everyone except me._ I huff out a breath, resigned to walk the twenty minutes back in silence; without Louise, who’s out with her own friends for the night, I don’t have anyone to talk to. And I’m not enthusiastic about the rest of my prospects for the evening - _no, I don’t see myself with any of the other matches...guess it’s_ _Netflix and-_

“Hey!” I whirl around at the voice, stumbling to a stop on the pavement. A yellowish glow throws strange shadows everywhere, and it takes me a moment to recognize the guy I’d unintentionally been following around for the whole event.

“Oh, hi,” I offer back, shifting on my feet as he approaches.

“Yeah, uh, hi!” I smile at his awkwardness; he’s evidently trying to figure out what to say. “Weird about those guys, right?” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder and I chuckle, nodding at his conspiratorial tone. “Do you, uh, live around here?” I frown. 

“No, I’m actually farther out, about twenty minutes,” I don’t miss the way his eyes dull, excitement extinguished. “Sorry,” I try, turning just a bit to see what he’ll do.

“Oh, uhm, well, okay,” he’s clearly at a loss for words again, and I’m tempted to say something; what I’d say, I have no clue, but I want to say _something._ “I’ll see you next week, maybe?” He beats me to it, sticking his hands in his pockets and tilting his head with a kind of half-smile.

“Yeah,” I reply without hesitation, and am rewarded with a bright grin - he looks like fire under the orangey-yellow of the street lights. My heart feels a little lighter, some of the weight of disappointment from Jake’s hasty exit dissipating as I head back to my flat.

 _Oh. Will I be back next week? What if Jake and I end up together, like a real, proper relationship?_ I shake my head, trying to clear it. _As if that’ll happen in a week..._ it doesn’t stop my hopes soaring anyway, and I send a quick message to Jake.

**Dan: __**_hey :) its Dan from the bar_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Parallel: side by side and having the same distance continuously between them, never intersecting_


	2. Algorithm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's once again time for the speed-dating- er, 'meet-up' event, and Dan's not sure what's going on with Jake.

Apparently, Jake is a player of many things: video games (a topic we hadn’t gotten to during our seven minute chat), football, men, and _games_ (not of the ‘video’ variety).

The first came up the day after we met, when I asked what he was up to and it took three hours to get a response. Which was that he’d been playing video games. I had a stupid grin on my face for the next half hour; we sent a flurry of texts about various games, strategies, and so on, though I was mildly disappointed to hear he stuck with some of the more ‘mainstream’ games, particularly Call of Duty. 

The second came up during our next conversation later that evening - he’d been busy, again, and responded after a couple hours that he was gross and sweaty from his football league and would text me as soon as he got out of the shower. I won’t lie, I definitely pulled a Straight White Guy and asked for pics. And immediately followed that text with a ‘jk’.

The third wasn’t ever verbally addressed, but I actually got a few semi-risque post-shower pics, and several suggestive texts over the next day, and my self esteem refuses to accept that he might be doing that _just for me_ \- the next logical conclusion, then, is that he acts that way with _everyone_. Ergo, player. On the surface, it doesn’t really bother me, though I can feel a pit in my stomach that begs to disagree. _That’s assuming that you’re even right about him, maybe he actually_ does _just like you._ I scoff aloud, glancing around to be sure I haven’t drawn anyone’s attention as I head toward the bar.

The final point I came to discover after three days, when I began to notice a pattern - every time I’d text him first, try to start a conversation, it would - without fail - take a good few hours before I got a response. Which was usually accompanied by an excuse, but it got to be almost _too_ coincidental. So on the fourth day, I resisted the urge to text him first. I didn’t properly get out of bed til noon, and prepared to spend the day busying myself with _anything_ to keep me distracted. 

I got a text after an hour. 

Once I started to respond regularly, he’d carry on the conversation for a bit before suddenly disappearing, then returning hours later with an excuse. On a whim, I let his response sit on read for a bit - I’d been glued to my phone every other time we had talked. I got two more texts in the next fifteen minutes, asking if I’d gone somewhere and, flirtatiously, if I’d found someone else to ‘play with’. 

As soon as I started leaving texts on read for a little, he was constantly texting, and - I’ll admit - I kind of let the power go to my head.

It’s Thursday evening again, and I’ve just read Jake’s latest text, resolving to ignore it for now. _He knows what’s going on tonight, surely he won’t be able to help but show up._ I’m just arriving at the bar, though I’m a little earlier than I like to be; at least the socializing is already in full swing, so I take a breath and push inside.

At first glance, there look to be mostly new faces - I use my height to my advantage, searching for the top of a blond head, but I’m disappointed to find none. I stand around the entrance in the hopes of catching Jake when he shows up, but several minutes pass and nobody else seems to be arriving. When the woman calls us all over, I grab a drink from the bar before joining the masses.

I can’t keep the grimace off my face, even as she sends us to our tables - I’m to be sat at number ten, not walking around tonight, but I can’t really be bothered to care. _What if this really_ is _all just a game to him? Some flirting and that’s it?_ I stare down at the drink in my hand - a rum and coke, much more my style than last week’s beer - and swirl it around in the hopes of distracting myself.

The night passes rather uneventfully, much to my chagrin - most of the guys are nice, even the poor guy whose name I couldn’t remember from last week (“PJ,” he said, still looking more sympathetic than annoyed). I keep hoping my phone will vibrate, but it never does, and I’m waiting to face down the last of my ‘matches’ before I can go home and mope properly.

“Hello again!” An enthusiastic voice across from me pulls me from my glazed-over stare at the ice melting in my glass, and I’m met with vibrance: clear, bright blue eyes and a stark contrast of black hair, accompanied by a shirt in vivid shades of red.

“Oh! It’s you,” I actually manage a smile - my first proper one of the evening - as he sits.

“I’m Phil, by the way,” he shuffles in his seat, clearly feeling a bit awkward, and it’s kind of endearing.

“Dan,” I smile, offering my hand across the table. Phil looks to it, then up to me, then reaches out. On a whim, I pull his arm - near as long as mine, so it’s not too much of a stretch for either of us - toward me, planting a gentle kiss on the back of his hand. _Wow. Did I really just do that?_ I can feel a flush crawl up my cheeks, but Phil just looks a bit shocked.

“Did you just do...the same thing the other guy did? Last week? What was his name, Jack or something?” If I was red before, I must look like a right tomato now. _Of course, he sat at literally every table before me, way to make that even more uncomfortable than it was to begin with._

“Uh, I just...you were, uh, you looked…” I trail off as I drop his hand; I’m not really sure there are words to explain the weird impulse or the origin. Before I can come up with anything, Phil bursts out in laughter that echoes around the bar - I glance at the other tables, suddenly conscious of all the eyes that turn our way.

He must notice as well, because he claps a hand over his mouth and his eyes go wide. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, I just...that was _hilarious_ ,” his hand is back on the table, though he’s still giggling - his tongue pokes out between his teeth, and I find myself smiling in spite of the compound embarrassment of the last minute. 

When silence falls between us, I cycle through my usual inventory of questions to ask - standard, easy, and usually telling enough that I can get a feel for the guy pretty quickly. _Not sports, he doesn’t look the type. Maybe I’ll start with what he does for work-_

“So,” Phil cuts my thoughts off, fixing an unblinking stare on me, and I’m thoroughly tempted to look away. “Thoughts?” He gestures at the room, glancing around as he does. My eyebrows arch - _how meta of him._

“On the...event?” I twist my lips, trying to decide how to proceed. _I could go the safe route, say it’s fun, great to meet new people, et cetera._ But something about him - maybe the way he’s staring at me, like he already knows my opinion but just wants verbal confirmation - makes me change my mind at the last second. “Pretty shit,” I offer with a sardonic smile, though it wavers as I suck in a breath and wait for his response.

Which doesn’t come - he just stares, blinks once, but then his lip curls up in a smirk. _Ah, a kindred spirit._

“I mean, it’s _fine,_ ” I add, feeling a little more comfortable now that he’s shown his hand. “But really, _speed dating_?” I lean forward, whispering the term, which earns me a chuckle. “Honestly,” I lean back in the chair, “if I wanted a speed-dating experience, I could just go on tinder.” 

“Or grindr,” Phil presses his lips into a line, eyes wide in shock at his own words. I sputter out a laugh of my own, mostly at how absurd _his_ reaction is. 

“Mate, it’s a _gay dating event._ Grindr isn’t exactly ‘taboo’ or anything,” I’ll admit, I’ve never used it, but I’m not about to shame anyone who has or does. Phil’s look of shock turns into a small, embarrassed smile, and I find that my cheeks are still stretched in a wide grin myself.

We discuss the implications of both tinder and grindr for several more minutes, never really delving into personal territory. It’s the timer that pulls me back to reality, and I drag my gaze away from Phil to take in the bar around me - everyone’s standing, making their way to the door, but I find that I don’t really want to leave yet. 

Two things happen at once, then - Phil stands, and my phone buzzes in my pocket. _About fucking time_. I nearly leap out of my chair, digging around and finally pulling the offending device from my pocket.

 **Louise:** _how was it? was that guy there again? NEED DETAILS ASAP_

I frown, shoving the damned thing back in my pocket - _clearly, this was just a little flirtatious game for him, then_ \- before looking up. Phil’s stood across the table, still, eyes flicking between my now-empty hand and my face. His lips part, like he’s about to say something, before pressing them into a line and offering a tight smile.

 _Oh. Oh, he thought..._ I open my mouth, about to apologize, but he’s already turning toward the door.

“Wait, Phil!” I nearly shout, though most of the people have already left and the bar is rather quiet. He spins, eyes going wide and an eyebrow quirked. I could swear he actually hums at me, but I’m not close enough to say for sure. “Could I...uh, your-”

“You _do_ want my number, then?” His brows - if possible - arch higher, and he tilts his head; I curse myself for being so rude as to make him think I didn’t. _I don’t know that I’m into him - I can’t say there’s obvious chemistry - but I certainly didn’t_ dislike _him…_

“Yeah!” I’d meant to feign some extra enthusiasm, but the response ends up feeling rather genuine. He takes a hesitant step back toward me. “I just, I got a text, and I wasn’t expecting it, so-” I feel compelled to explain, but he just grins at me, and it shuts me up.

Wordlessly, I hand over my phone, and he puts his number in. His fingers brush mine when he hands it back, and I try not to acknowledge the warmth that comes with it. 

“‘Phil’, with a lion emoji?” I read off the contact and chuckle, glancing back up to his face: his eyes are bright - hell, his whole _face_ is lit up - and I have to tell my limbs to move three times before I start walking; we’re the only two left in the bar.

“Well,” he pauses at the door, holding it open for me, and I roll my eyes at him before stepping through. “It represents my personality!” I let out a proper laugh, cool air brushing against my warm cheeks now that we’re outside.

“Does it?” It’s a rhetorical question, but his smile is so wide that I wonder if the massive grin of a lion isn’t perfectly appropriate. We stand in silence for what feels like five minutes but is probably closer to five seconds, and my social anxiety starts to get the better of me, begging me to get home.

“Well?” Phil interrupts me before I can get started on my goodbye - the usual ‘ _this was nice, be seeing you_ ’ I supply when I’m not entirely sure how I feel about the guy - and I furrow my brows. “Aren’t you going to text me so I can save your number?” My confusion dissolves into a strange bubbly fizz in my chest, and it forces its way to my face in the form of a smirk that rivals Phil’s.

“I usually wait til I’ve left,” I answer honestly, though my tone is laced with amusement. “But if you’re _that_ impatient…” I dig my phone from my pocket, sending a quick ‘hey it’s Dan’ to Phil’s number before returning it to its place. When he receives it, his face lights up in fake surprise, and a laugh escapes my throat before I can stop myself. _Is this a game to him?_ My grin settles into a small smile as I watch him save the contact, though I’m a little curious what he’ll put for my name - surely, just ‘Dan’ would be too mundane for his liking.

“What animal best represents you?” He’s frowning at his screen, clearly giving this a lot of thought, though he can’t know me all that well. After a beat, he looks up and inspects me, eyes squinted in an appraising fashion. I don’t know why I shiver, though I’m ready to blame it on the cool evening air if he mentions it.

“Uh, a bear?” I say, thinking of my family’s nickname for me. Phil’s already refocused on his screen, but he glances up at my comment. Then scans me again, twice. The scrutiny brings a flush to my cheeks, and I shove my hands into my pockets for something to do.

“A teddy bear, maybe,” Phil chuckles, but he must’ve decided on something, because his finger taps his screen before locking his phone and putting it away. “You live pretty far, right?” He asks, returning his full attention to me. I blink before remembering that I’d talked to him last week, right after the event.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” I shrug, “it’s not _that_ far, I guess.” I don’t want to come off as whiny, not when a twenty-minute walk is pretty much nothing for some people. 

“Want some company?” I suck in a breath at his words, butterflies fluttering in my chest. 

“Oh, uh, no, that’s alright,” his lips twist, but it isn’t quite a frown. “No, it’s not that I don’t _want_ your company, I just...uh...maybe another time?” I’m having a tough time getting a clear read on Phil, and I want to keep my answers noncommittal until I get a better handle on _whatever the fuck is going on in my head right now_. 

“Another time, then,” If Phil’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it beyond a small smile and a curt nod, then he’s setting off in the other direction. I’m a little surprised at the drop in my stomach watching him go. 

The whole evening has thrown me for a loop, and I’m still trying to process everything several hours later laying in bed. Not only do I have this whole Phil thing to consider, but I’d almost entirely forgotten about Jake - he’s gotten back round to texting me, though he didn’t say a word about the speed-dating event. _Maybe he forgot..._ I’m not sure, but I do my best not to be disappointed. Which, frankly, is pretty easy when a hunk keeps sending hot pictures of his abs. 

By the time I’m exhausted enough to fall asleep - far earlier than usual - I’ve only really decided one thing: _nothing_ about this night has been normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Algorithm: a step by step procedure by which an operation can be carried out_


	3. Congruence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan's got a hot date.

It took me all of two days to figure out that there was _something_ between Phil and I - I’m not sure _what_ exactly, but it’s something. I got a text from him the next morning that had only said ‘ _i lost my favorite sock!!_ ’ with a distressed emoji, which seemed to come completely out of left field. I typed and retyped my response twelve times, after contemplating it for a good fifteen minutes. And regretted it as soon as I hit send, because who says something like ‘ _it ran away to join the sock circus, let it live its dream_ ’?

I felt paralyzed, staring down at my phone until I’d gotten his text back: ‘ _i support the dreams of all of my socks, as long as some of them dream about going on my feet_ ’.

The rest of the day had played out like that: strange texts back and forth that left me either snorting with laughter or gave me the perfect opportunity for a sarcastic comment. Most of the people I meet from those match events don’t really understand my sense of humor, and I find myself typically playing it light when talking to a guy I’m into. 

Phil seems to be the exception to the rule, taking everything I say in stride and responding with equally - if not _more_ \- unusual commentary. It’s been making ignoring Jake rather easy.

Jake, who I’m still kind of talking to, who’s still sending flirty texts and hot pictures, who I’m not really ready to give up on.

**Jake: __**_what you up to tonight?_

_Jake_ , who I’m pretty sure is asking me out. ‘ _Falling into a spiral of existential despair. Also probably eating a lot of popcorn_ ’ is what I type out, then rush to delete. _This isn’t Phil, Jake probably wouldn’t find that funny._

**Dan: __**_not much, got something in mind to distract me? ;)_

I can flirt, that’s easy - hell, it’s _routine_ at this point. _Phil_ is the anomaly here. 

**Jake: __**_mcalisters 9p wear something hot_

I don’t bother responding, though I fully intend to show. _Let him sweat it out for a bit._ Instead, I return to my conversation with Phil - we’ve been discussing the eating habits of penguins, something Phil seems to know a disturbing amount about. Before I can type out my response, though, I get a flurry of incoming texts.

 **Louise:** _are you ignoring me?_

**Louise: __**_tell me what’s going on_

**Louise: __**_this lecture is boring af i need your guy gossip to tide me over_

I grin down at the screen, switching over to her conversation and typing out a quick summary.

**Dan: __**_hot guy on the ropes, we’re going to that pub mcalisters tonight_

After I hit send, I switch back to Phil. Then back to Louise.

**Dan: __**_also another guy, not sure abt him yet tho. seems like fun_

I decide that’s safe enough - since it’s _true_ \- and return again to the great penguin debate.

 **Phil:** _i know they eat fish but sharks technically are fish all im saying is they could gang up on a shark like imagine a swarm of penguins_

**Phil: __**_do you like horror movies this is imperative information_

I grin at the first text, but the second has me frowning - general interest questions, in my experience, can only lead in two directions: either we think we’re compatible because we both like a thing, thus losing sight of whether or not we’re _actually_ compatible, or we immediately stop all efforts because we don’t share interest in that _one_ thing. 

It takes a full ten seconds for me to decide to respond. _I mean, I have no idea what to do about him right now, maybe this will help me figure it out._

**Dan: __**_sharks have sharp teeth game over for penguins. and yeah i do_

I _love_ horror movies, though I’m still wary of expressing opinions too strongly in any direction. Well, opinions on things that _matter_ , not on whether a horde of penguins could take down a great white.

My phone’s gone silent for the time being, so I sit up from the sofa to grab my discarded laptop - I _really_ should get started on this paper, given that it’s due the day after tomorrow and I’ve yet to start it.

\------------------------

I actually manage to get through a few paragraphs, dutifully ignoring the notifications coming from my phone, before I decide I’ve done enough for now. _Besides, time to get ready for my date..._ I let the fluttering in my chest pull me from the sofa and toward my bathroom for a quick shower.

Just as I step out, my phone decides to buzz, and I towel off quickly before opening the floodgates. 

**Louise: __**_ooooh i expect all the juicy deets tomorrow morning_

**Louise:** _WAIT WHAT ANOTHER GUY_

**Louise: __**_is he hot???????? v important info!!_

**Louise: __**_uhhh hello??? i need to know!_

**Louise: __**_you scoundrel, two men at one time ;)_

I chuckle at the texts, but the third one gives me pause - I don’t know that I’d class Phil as _hot_. Which is unusual for me. Normally, that’s the first box a guy has to check to get my attention. He’s _attractive_ , definitely, but in a quirky way, certainly nothing like the guys I typically go after. Again, the whole thing’s thrown me for a loop, so I do my best to be honest without being _too_ honest.

**Dan: __**_i’ll let you know how it goes tonight. as for the other guy, hes def attractive but still not sure abt him yet, i’ll keep you posted. gtg for now, gotta get ready for my hot date ;)_

I figure that’s safe enough, and will at least buy me til tomorrow before she gets too nosy again. I have several texts from Phil and Jake both, but I head to Jake’s conversation first, in case he’s calling tonight off or something. My chest sinks at the thought.

**Jake: __**_you in babe?_

**Jake: __**_if not i’ll just have to find someone to take your place ;)_

**Jake: __**_jk tho you’re too hot to replace_

**Jake:** _lmk asap tho ;)_

It’s a bloody rollercoaster in my stomach reading his texts, because isn’t that exactly what I was afraid of? That he’s a complete player who could get anyone he wanted, and he’s just playing games with me? I frown, then focus on his compliment. _Does he really think I’m hot?_ I let it go to my head, doing my best to match his flirtatious tone.

**Dan: __**_ofc i’ll be there see ya in an hour ;)_

Not too desperate-sounding, I hope - especially that it’s been at least ten minutes since his last text. _Oh fuck. What if he_ did _already find someone else?_ I stare at the messages for a few more minutes before ultimately giving up - if he wants someone else, it’s not like there’s much I can do about it.

Fortunately, Phil’s texts are far more interesting.

**Phil: __**_awesome theres this movie next week i’ve been dying to see but nobody really likes horror much, wanna come with me?_

**Phil: __**_i mean, you can say no, its no big deal_

**Phil: __**_no strings attached or anything if you don’t want_

They were all sent in the span of two minutes, and a smirk tugs at my previously-frowning lips. 

**Dan:** _sure, when and where? i’m always down for a good scare_

I decide that, since I’m still on the fence about Phil, I’ll ignore the implication of whether or not this is a proper date. His response comes in a matter of minutes, though I don’t go for my phone until after I’ve finished drying my hair. 

**Phil:** _THAT RHYMES its at the regal cinema tuesday 840p does that work? there are some other times too_

**Dan: __**_sure works for me, see ya then :)_

At the last second, I switch the winky face to a regular smile - Phil’s not been flirty yet, and I’m not sure where we stand. _What if he does just want a friend?_ Though I’m actually feeling comfortable with that, a twinge of disappointment slips through my chest as I set my phone down to start straightening my hair.

I manage not to burn anything, and my hair lies flat across my forehead exactly the way I prefer. _And now I only have ten minutes before I have to leave._ I blow out a breath as I rush to my room, pulling out my go-to nice shirt and ripped black jeans. _Why does being pretty require such effort?_

It’s a silly thought, because I’ve never found myself all that attractive, but enough guys have said it that I shrug as I scan my reflection. _I’m fine, I guess._ As I head out the door, prepared to make the almost-thirty-minute trek to McAlister’s, my phone buzzes in my hand again.

**Phil: __**_do you suppose horoscopes could apply to dogs as well?_

My cheeks stretch wide in a grin, and I do my best to hold back the bubble of laughter in my chest. _What planet did this guy come from?_

**Dan: __**_ofc not you spoon horoscopes aren’t even real_

I tack on the eyeroll emoji for good measure, though I wonder if my response doesn’t sound too serious. _Not that I believe in any of that junk, anyway._ I find myself still grinning ten minutes later, despite the lack of texts from Phil - _or anyone_ \- when I walk past the Regal cinema. The one I’ll be meeting Phil at in a few days. It’s only ten minutes from my flat, and I’m surprised - _hadn’t he walked in the_ other _direction from the bar the other night?_

Before I can think too hard on it, my phone buzzes - it hasn’t left my hand, so I’m opening Phil’s message almost immediately.

**Phil: __**_actually good point cause then all puppies in the same litter would be the same sign but they’re always so different, can’t be. they probably have their own horoscopes based on famous dogs of history and mythology_

**Phil: __**_i bet theres a cerberus one!! it would be like gemini but triplets_

I giggle at the three dog emojis before responding.

**Dan: __**_i’m gemini, i think cerberus would be an awesome dog sign. what would you be?_

It’s weird, because I have absolutely no interest in star signs on an average day. _I’m just trying to fill the time between now and arriving at the pub, that’s all._ It’s about another ten minute walk, given I’ve just passed the bar where the speed dating events are held.

**Phil: __**_aquarius hmmmmm water puppies OTTERS it would totally be some kind of otter i bet_

**Phil: __**_omg have you seen that vid of the otter with her baby floating around its so adorable!!_

His next text is a link to a video, and I ensure my volume is off before clicking, since I’m sort of just walking down the street where anyone could hear. Not that it’s porn or anything, I just have no interest in drawing attention. 

The video _is_ very cute, and I make sure to tell Phil in the moment before I step through the door - it’s a hasty text, and I click send while already scanning the patrons to see if I can spot Jake.

Though I’m usually uncomfortable towering over most people, I find myself grateful for my height when it allows me to locate the blond head after only a cursory check - he’s near the bar, already cradling a beer in one hand, and I walk up and clear my throat.

“Oh! Dan, you’re here!” His eyes are bright, though he genuinely looks a little surprised. The expression fades quickly, though, replaced by something more delicious as his eyes rove my body and linger on my legs. _Score one for Dan, with the ripped skinny jeans_. I applaud myself mentally before sorting my face into a flirtatious smirk.

“Yeah, I am. Going to buy me a drink?” I lean against the bar for support, trusting my instincts to use the right words. I don’t know what exactly Jake’s game is, but mine’s pretty simple: he’s hot, and I want him. End of story. _A lot simpler than Phil._

Phil, who must’ve just texted, because I feel a buzz in my pocket that it takes a strange amount of willpower to ignore. _Hot guy right here, pay attention._

Jake doesn’t respond to my query, but he’s already ordering another beer, and I suppress a sigh when he passes it to me. A thrill zings across my skin, though, when his gaze fixes heavily on my lips as I lift the bottle. The taste isn’t that great, but I lick my lips anyway. His eyes go dark.

“So tell me about yourself,” I give the standard line, because guys like Jake _love_ talking about themselves, and I don’t mind listening. Even if it typically leads to a repetition of most of the things we’ve already discussed. 

I also make sure to turn away, break his line of sight to my mouth, because I know it’ll frustrate him. _I can play games, too_. There’s an audible pause, stretching out longer than it really should, and I count it as another mental victory. _Two, nil, babe_. I want to throw his little term of endearment right back at him.

“Well, you know a lot of it already,” he’s grinning now, but his words have caught my attention. _Maybe there’s more to him than I thought. I wonder if he’ll ask much about me._ That’s usually my telltale sign that a fling is...well, _just_ a fling. If they spend the evening talking themselves up, I can usually expect a one-night stand and that’s about it. Frankly, that’s all _I_ can be bothered with, if there’s no obvious depth to the conversation.

Instead of responding, I hum around a sip of beer. This time, Jake’s eyes don’t linger quite as long.

“So what would you like to know, then?” I don’t frown, because at least his response is _different_. Instead, I let my eyes drift toward the ceiling as I feign a decision. Maybe because I’ve just been talking to Phil, or maybe because I’m tempted to test Jake, I switch my response at the last second.

“What’s your star sign?” It’s not what I’d have usually said - either something about his job, though I know he’s some fancy-ass lawyer, or a more suggestive ‘ _what do you want?_ ’ that might speed the evening along - and I’m regretting it the moment his eyes narrow at me. But he takes it in stride, at least.

“Aquarius,” a beat of silence, “and yours?” I almost laugh, pressing my lips into a tight line before taking a sip of beer. _What are the odds?_

“ _An otter,_ ” I mumble under my breath, glancing up to catch Jake as his brows pull together in confusion. “Oh! I mean, I’m, uh, gemini,” I take another sip, wishing for something a little stronger. _Stupid question._ “You know what else I’d like to know, though?” Desperate to get my mind off this weird situation, and to get a move on with the night, I lean forward to his ear. “ _How far is your flat?_ ”

I don’t get a response when I pull back, but Jake’s eyes widen and he sets his beer on the bar before grabbing my free hand with his icy, damp one. I have less than a second to abandon my own drink - not that I’m feeling the loss all that badly - before I’m out the door behind Jake and he’s leading me down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Congruence: two geometrical figures are congruent to one another if they have the same size and shape_


	4. Derivative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan goes to meet Louise for coffee and to catch her up on the gossip.

I wake the next morning in my own bed - the sex had been good, like _really_ good, but neither of us had really wanted to let it be a ‘wake up together’ kind of thing. _Yet_. My stomach feels light just thinking about it; at the end of the day, I _am_ looking for a relationship. Hot sex is just a qualification for that relationship.

After a few more minutes of laying in bed, grinning up at the ceiling, I finally decide to face the storm of texts I’m sure to have from Louise - it’s already noon, and there’s no way she’s letting me off easy.

**Louise: __**_alright boy spill!_

**Louise: __**_i KNOW something happened or you wouldn’t still be asleep!!_

**Louise: __**_I DEMAND DETAILS_

**Louise: __**_OMFG ARE YOU STILL AT HIS PLACE_

**Louise: __**_OR IS HE AT YOURS txt when you can but don’t let me interrupt ;)_

I throw my arm across my face, mostly to block out the flush that creeps to my cheeks along with a stupid grin. 

**Dan:** _didn’t stay over but it was HOT i refuse to put details in text form ;)_

Which is how, a quick shower and an hour later, I end up at the cafe down the street - since it’ll just be Louise and I, I didn’t bother drying or straightening my hair. _She would’ve had a fit if I’d made her wait any longer, let’s be honest._ I grin as I push the door open, searching for the blonde waves of my closest friend. 

She’s not here yet, which doesn’t shock me, since I live closer than she does. But I know her order - a white chocolate mocha, extra whipped cream - so I get in line. Besides, it’s almost certainly my turn to pay for drinks.

I’m just frowning down at my phone, sat along with our drinks at the small corner table I’ve chosen, when a bright voice makes me look up. _Finally, and I thought_ I _was the one with poor time management._

“ _Dan!_ ” I give Louise a smile - not that I have much of a choice with how contagious hers is - before she collapses into the seat across from me. “Alright, details, right _now_ ,” she leans in, fixing me with a stern glare, and I lean back against the chair in an attempt to fight off my blush. And to try to figure out where to start.

Which is how, as I scan the coffee shop, my gaze passes over not one but _two_ frighteningly familiar faces. 

“ _Shit!_ ” I duck down onto the table, doing my best to hide my face with my arm. “ _Louise, we have to get out of here, like, now!_ ” I’m whispering at her, and her perfectly sculpted brows scrunch together for a moment before she turns, fully, to search the cafe herself.

“Who did you-”

“ _No!_ ” I grab at her arm, where it’s laying on the table, and she whips her head back around. _Just my fucking luck._ “Both guys, they’re _both_ here,” I mumble at her, and her eyes go wide. And _of course_ she takes it in the totally wrong direction.

“ _Both_ guys? Danny, hon, you are _so_ lucky! They haven’t spotted you, right?” I groan, face still hot, but shake my head. Neither is sat facing me, just turned to the side at their respective tables.

With their respective _dates_.

“Oh god, no, they haven’t,” I mumble, “but they’re each with someone else,” I drop my head fully into my arms, staring at the wood table, because _wow_ I’m pathetic. _One guy I had a one-night stand with, the other I’m not even sure I’m into._ And yet, the hole opening in my chest is ready to suck all my happiness down into it.

“You know what we have to do, don’t you?” I look up at Louise’s voice, full of mischief, to find a wicked grin on her face. 

“No, absolutely _not._ Whatever it is, we are _not_ doing it,” I have no clue what’s going on in her mind, but I can see the gears whirring, and I _know_ it can’t be good.

“Oh come on, aren’t you curious? I mean, what if they’re not even on dates? What if they’re just...meeting up with a friend?” She leans forward, lifting her brows. _Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m doing…_

“Fine, fine,” I keep my head low, though, sure that one of them will turn toward us and spot me. _God, that would be the epitome of embarrassment._ “What’s your grand plan, then?” She takes a contemplative sip of her drink, staring up at the wall above me, before deigning to respond. I spend the time glancing between her and Phil and Jake, already preparing for the worst.

“You have their numbers, right? And you’ve been talking to them?” I nod slowly, still wary of the direction this might go. Louise points at my phone. “Text them,” which seems moderately safe. “Ask what they’re up to,” which seems less safe. 

“No, I can’t just...I mean, they’ll _know_ ,” I argue, though I’m not sure how they would know. Louise’s look says very much the same, so I grab my phone from the table and open up my conversation with Jake. 

**Dan: __** _hey last night was great ;) what you up to today?_

I honestly regret it as soon as I send it - it sounds needy, and I’m grimacing as I switch over to Phil’s conversation. Where I realize that I’ve completely forgotten he sent me a text the night before.

 **Phil:** _nah but you certainly are :)_

I read the message through twice before it occurs to me to actually look at the conversation before that. 

**Phil: __**_omg have you seen that vid of the otter with her baby floating around its so adorable!!_

**Phil: __**_ https://youtu.be/1xf2VVB7boI _

**Dan: __**_youre r cute_

**Phil: __**_nah but you certainly are :)_

_Oh. Oh god. Oh fuck._ I drop my head back to the table, cursing the fat fingers and distraction that had allowed that slip-up to be sent last night. At first, I’m typing out an apology, saying I’d meant to say that he was _right_ and the _video_ was cute, but... _he said I was cute..._ the thought sends a swarm of butterflies through my stomach, and I almost forget the purpose of navigating to his conversation in the first place.

 _Fuck, how do I follow that up, though?_ Not to mention, I also have to somehow _casually_ ask what he’s doing today. _Or I could totally ignore the ‘cute’ thing..._ the thought is appealing enough, and I stick with it.

**Dan: __**_so hows the life of the otter sign, what you up to today?_

It’s a poor attempt at pulling in our conversation from last night, but I can’t think of anything better on short notice - my brain is still frazzled from the ‘cute’ comment. _He thinks I’m cute?_ I’m drawn from inside my head when Louise taps at the table in front of me, lightly enough to look casual but loud enough that I recognize it as some kind of signal.

When I look up, she jerks her head to the side, and let my gaze wander casually across the shop; it catches briefly on Jake, who’s not seemed to react to getting a text at all, and I frown. Phil, on the other hand, has his phone up to his face, and taps at it a few times before lowering it to the table.

A moment later, I get two texts in quick succession.

**Phil: __**_surrounded by family!!! just like the otter pup in the video :)_

**Phil: __**_catching up with my bro over some coffee haha_

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, glancing up again - I can’t see the guy Phil’s sat with, he’s at an awkward angle, but I watch Phil for a few moments; for the life of me, I can’t peg any of his expressions or movements as flirtatious. _Why would he lie, though?_ Frankly, he doesn’t seem like someone who’d be purposefully dishonest.

I dare a glance back at Jake. I’m not sure why I’m shocked to find his eyes drop frequently to the lips of the guy across from him, fingers brush something from his cheek, legs extend under the table to rest lightly against his. _He’s a player, exactly like I thought._ Besides, it’s not like we claimed exclusivity. 

“Well?” Louise gives me a pointed look, and I can see the strain on her face from trying desperately not to peek over her shoulder. “Which one? Did both of them respond?” I twist my lips, glancing back down at my phone with a sigh. 

“Just Phil,” I breathe out, still trying to hide behind my arm. “The one I wasn’t sure about,” I clarify at her confused expression, beating her to the question. _Jake’s definitely on a date,_ I don’t say that aloud, though - it’s almost as embarrassing as having one of them catch me staring.

“You don’t sound too happy about that,” Louise lifts an eyebrow, and her drink to her lips. I ponder this for a minute. _Am I annoyed by it?_

“I guess it makes my life harder,” I concede, then tense and duck into my hands again when I notice Jake and his _date_ stand from their table and make their way to the door. I only allow myself a breath once they’ve left, and there’s no chance of them spotting me. With a heavy sigh, I sit back against my chair. “It would’ve been easier if I knew he was with someone, y’know?” I reach for my own drink, abandoned during our espionage.

“Cause you’re not sure about him?” Louise repeats my own words from earlier, but they sound flat on her tongue. _She’s making them that way_ , I have to assume, taking a sip from my own cup. 

“Yeah,” I nod, though I’m distracted again by Phil - he’s pulling out his phone, and I belatedly realize I never responded to his last text. He types something out quickly, then sets his phone on the table. When he sits back, his gaze starts to wander; I hide in my arms again, hoping I’m inconspicuous enough. 

When the table vibrates, I near have a heart attack - but it’s just my phone, and Louise snorts at me. 

“Fuck off,” I mumble from where my face is mostly settled on my arm. My other hand has already unlocked the phone, opened to Phil’s conversation. _Oh. He was texting me. Duh._

**Phil: __**_you can say no, but do you maybe want to grab dinner before the movie on tues?_

_Oh._ I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I peek out from behind Louise to see if I can sneak a glimpse of Phil without him noticing. He’s staring pretty intently at his brother across from him, but it’s clear even from here that his cheeks are pink, and he’s tapping the table with his cup; it moves in time with his foot.

 **Dan:** _sure_

I blow out a breath, tickling the hairs on my arm. I know Louise is watching me, probably about to burst with impatience at _what exactly I’m doing_ , but I need to see Phil’s reaction.

When his face lights up, I swear I see the sun: his grin is dazzling and his fingers type out an excited response. I’m once again startled when the phone in my own hand buzzes, though I knew it was coming.

**Phil: __**_we can meet outside the theater and decide from there? does 7 work?_

I send back a quick affirmative, tacking on a smiley face just because. When I look around my arm this time, I’m surprised to notice Phil’s already gone - _no, there he is._ I spot him by the door, about to walk out with his brother. As soon as they’ve left, I sit up fully. Louise has fixed me with a very demanding stare, sipping at the last of her drink with an exaggerated slurp.

“Yeah, yeah, details, I know,” I wave a hand, my own drink once again forgotten. _It’s probably lukewarm now, anyway._ “So, uh, first thing, he asked me to see a movie on Tuesday,” I pause, waiting for the burst of angry-excitement from Louise that I didn’t mention it yet. 

She just hums, as if she expected it. 

“So, anyway,” I tilt my head for a moment, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Then, just now, he asked if I wanted to get some food beforehand,” I play it down as much as I can, hoping she’ll let it alone. Which, because she’s Louise, she absolutely doesn’t.

“ _Ohmygod_ you do totally like him, don’t you!” She laughs it off, though, more a confirmation than a question or an attempt at teasing. “Obviously you said yes,” again, just a statement of fact, and my face flushes hotter.

“I mean, yeah, but he said it didn’t have to be a _thing_ ,” I mumble, wishing my beverage was still warm - one hand on the cup confirms it’s no longer drinkable. 

“Oh, but you _want_ it to be, don’t you?” This one _is_ more of a question, and my eyes shift to the floor beside our table. _Yeah, I guess so._ I don’t have to say it, she’s apparently satisfied with my expression, because she launches into a monologue about how _smitten_ I look and how _cute_ he is and how _maybe he’ll be the one_.

I hadn’t really considered it from a _relationship_ standpoint - a date, sure, _possibly_ , but ‘ _the one_ ’? That’s putting a lot of weight onto it. More just...he’s nice to talk to, nice to look at? And it’s been ages since I saw a proper horror movie, since Louise detests them. 

“Uh, yeah,” I interject, “I guess we’ll find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Derivative: a measure of how a function or curve changes as its input changes_


	5. Complex Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan's got an essay to finish and a dream to decipher...and a cold to get over.

It’s not til three hours later - almost _exactly_ \- that I get any kind of response from Jake.

**Jake: __**_oh sorry didn’t see this! catching up with an old friend_

I leave it on read. 

I split my time between stressing about the thin thread of connection I feel with Jake - amazing-sex, athlete-fit, thinks-I’m-hot Jake - and the...well, I’m not sure _what_ kind of connection I feel with Phil. Or how I feel about him. Hell, I’m not sure of _anything_ to do with him; he’s a complete enigma. 

Our texts the rest of the day focus on lighter topics, like Star Wars - of which we are both huge nerds, though I argued I was nerdier. _Why did I do that? Nothing attractive about being obsessed with Star Wars..._ though, to be fair, I’d been more than excited to find we had _another_ thing in common.

 _Maybe whatever this is_ does _have some potential._

\-------------------

I make a sincere effort to finish my paper, since it’s due tomorrow, but I only get through another two topics before my thoughts about Phil overwhelm my ability to focus.

**Dan: __**_so like what do you do?_

**Dan:** _like for work i mean_

I curse my awkward wording, but I’d sent the first text fully on impulse. His job wasn’t something we’d gotten to during our brief conversation, nor had I wanted to bring it up since. It felt - _feels_ \- like a mundane question in the face of Star Wars and the Great Shark and Penguin War. Several minutes go by, then several more, and I’m about to make a sad attempt at diving back into my paper when my phone finally vibrates.

**Phil: __**_ https://youtu.be/L2HuSjkWBBw _

I stare at the link, thoroughly confused, before clicking it.

\---------------------------

Two hours and over a dozen videos later, I manage to pull myself from the veritable rabbit hole that is AmazingPhil. _He does that for a living?_ I’m shocked it pays enough. It’s at this point I realize I’ve completely ignored not only my paper - _I still have...two hours before the deadline?_ \- but Phil as well.

**Dan: __**_uhhhh that’s the coolest job ever?_

It sounds utterly _lame_ , but I click send anyway. My head is swimming with this new information, flooded with all things _Phil_ , but the most prominent thought that comes through is that I am nowhere _near_ interesting enough to be allowed to associate with him. His mind works in ways I can’t even fathom, which I suppose explains the outside-the-box conversations we’ve had, but how could he find me entertaining enough to even talk to?

Or see horror movies with? Or have dinner with? _Oh fuck._ Suddenly, Tuesday is looming over my head. _I could call it off._ I consider this for a few minutes, then a few more, before ultimately deciding against it. I’m too selfish for my own good, and I kind of think I might _really_ like Phil, more than I originally anticipated.

\------------------------

After another two rushed hours of writing, I manage to submit my paper just before the midnight deadline. I lean back from my desk - I’d gone to sit there, to properly focus, instead of my sofa - and stare at my laptop. _Sleep._ It’s the only concept my brain can manage, after spitting out several pages worth of nonsense that resembled research and coherent thought, but I’m still drawn in by the idea of Phil. 

_I’ll just...I’ll get in bed, then_ one _video._ As I stand, my head throbs, and I groan before making my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth. _I’ll regret it if I don’t_ , I reason, though I’m fairly certain I’m already regretting doing anything other than collapsing into my bed.

After another couple minutes, a fluffy blanket and duvet surround me, and I can feel my mind warring with my body as to whether I should just shut my eyes and sleep or if I _really_ need to watch another of Phil’s videos.

 _Fuck._ I sling my arm from the safety of the covers over to my bedside table, groping around for my phone. The screen shines at me, uncomfortably bright, before adjusting to the darkness of the room. _Okay, just-_ I’m about to click on one of the videos I’ve not yet watched when I notice someone has a running playlist of _all_ his videos, including some that seem to be unlisted. _Jackpot._

I fall asleep with an increasingly familiar voice in my ears, piercing blue eyes staring out from the screen, and a strange sense of comfort in my chest.

\-----------------------------

_“This was the most fun I’ve ever had- oh!” A warm body tackles me - Phil’s, I realize after a moment. We’re in his room, I think, but it’s hard to tell when I’m staring at the ceiling. As I turn my head, though, to the offending attacker, I notice a blue and green bedspread - yeah, Phil’s room._

_“What are you-” I’m silenced with a kiss, soft and warm, and my eyes widen for a split second to capture the sight of ruffled black hair and a flash of blue irises before closing, getting lost in the moment._

_It’s exceptionally_ tame _, as far as my usual escapades go, but Phil’s hands are trailing fire across my back and up my sides, slow and languid and hypnotizing. My bones melt, free of the surprise that had paralyzed me, and my arms wrap around Phil. He’s got me pinned, mostly, to the floor below us - it’s not uncomfortable, though I feel like it should be. It’s actually-_

_Soft, and my hand fists the duvet under me - under me, now, because we’ve moved to the bed. I’m still pinned, Phil’s still over me, but his lips have found new targets: my jaw, my throat, my collarbone, they’re all under fire and burning from each kiss. In a fit of annoyance, or maybe passion, my free hand tugs at the hair on the back of his neck, pulling his face back up to mine._

_“I love you, Phil,” my voice is quiet, like the words might break the entire warped reality around us, but Phil just smiles, lowers his mouth to meet mine, to taste the words from my tongue._

_“And I love you.”_

\--------------------------------

My eyes fly open, pitch blackness the first thing they register. The next is a thin sheen of sweat across my skin, then my duvet thrown off half my body. Everything under the covers is hot and feverish, the exposed parts chilled and clammy.

“What…” I mumble at the room, as if it’ll have an answer for the weird dream. _Surely I’m not so infatuated with Phil after only knowing him a week..._ something about the dream, though, was so intensely vivid. Hazy, sure, but strangely _real_. 

In a huff, I throw off the rest of my duvet, intent on standing and heading to the bathroom to splash my face, wash away the remnants of the dream. The moment I sit up, however, my head swims, and it takes another minute before everything focuses properly again. 

Instead of moving, instead of doing _anything_ , I collapse back into the damp sheets - I would very much like to change them, or shift so I’m laying somewhere dry, but my muscles all suddenly feel heavy and sore. _It’s fine, later, I’ll just do it later._

\------------------------------

I wake up again some time later - I assume, because light is now shining in around the edges of my curtains - feverishly hot. _Hah, hot. I’m hot._ The words sound thick even in my mind, fuzzy and unsure, and I groan as soon as I try to lift my head. Then I try my arm, intent on throwing off the duvet to cool down, but that doesn’t seem to work. So I try to lift my body, even though all I’d like to do is curl up into a ball and disappear. That doesn’t work either.

I can’t get comfortable - I’m flipping between frozen and sweltering, my heartbeat thumps lazily in my brain, and my throat feels dry and scratchy. After several minutes - or hours, I can’t be bothered to check - I finally manage to feel dehydrated enough that my need for water overwhelms my desire to stay in bed.

I sit up slowly, giving my aching head time to catch up, then place two clammy feet on the floor. When I try to stand, my legs wobble beneath me, and I end up slumped back on the mattress - it takes two more tries to get properly standing, to make my way over to the bathroom and lean heavily against the sink. 

I don’t know why I’m shocked when I look in the mirror: it’s clearly my face staring back, though dark bruises sit heavily under my eyes in stark contrast to the rest of my ghostly pale skin - it’s an odd sight, because I can feel the heat resting just under the surface, so I expect patchy red blushing on my cheeks. _Well, guess I can accurately call that dream last night a ‘fever dream’..._

I down as much water as I can handle, along with some painkillers, then shuffle my way back to the bed. My eyes shut and my brain shuts down, and I’m asleep before I can think to pull my covers back over me.

\------------------------------

When I wake this time, things are a little less blurry around the edges, and my skin no longer feels clammy. I’m also aware enough to recognize the meaning of the orangey-red light coming through the curtains: it’s late afternoon, and I’ve entirely missed my classes for the day. Not that anything important was going on, but I exhale a muffled groan into my pillow anyway.

I can’t quite be bothered to get up yet - though there’s an echo of pounding in my head that tells me I may need another dose of painkillers very soon - so I reach across the end of my bed in search of my phone. _I probably have...at least three texts from Louise, if not more from Jake and Phil._

 _Phil..._ the fever dream comes back in a rush, oddly memorable despite the fact that it was a dream. My fingers close around my phone, tugging it toward me; the ghost of lips across mine, of hands tracing the lines of my back, of collapsing against the floor with a pleasant weight holding me down, they all trail along the edge of my mind.

 _Focus._ As expected, I have...quite a few messages.

**Louise: __**_babe you missed class today_

**Louise: __**_do NOT tell me you ditched to be with one of your man-candies!!!_

**Louise: __**_boy they’d better be worth it, i hate this history class and you’re the only reason i show up!!!_

**Louise: __**_fineeeeeee i expect deets when you’re back tho ;)_

Ever the gossip. I send a quick text that I wasn’t feeling great - I know her too well, if I mention legitimate illness (though I _am_ already feeling a bit better), she’ll be over with soup and medicine and heating pads or whatever she deems suitable in order to nurse me back to health. She means well, but it’s a bit overbearing, and I usually prefer to just be _alone_ when I feel like shit.

I hover over Phil’s conversation, really _really_ intending to open it next, but I switch to Jake’s at the last second.

**Jake: __**_hey babe let’s go clubbing tonight_

**Jake: __**_want to see you get hot and sweaty dancing for me ;)_

**Jake: __**_unless you don’t want to no pressure_

**Jake: __**_but i wouldn’t mind your ass grinding on me all night ;)_

**Jake: __**_got something better to do?_

**Jake: __**_nvm not going clubbing maybe see you another night_

The texts, far more than I’m used to seeing all at once, have my eyebrows skyrocketing up my forehead. _Wow, I got the ‘jealous’ vibe, but I didn’t realize it came along with this weird passive-aggressive streak..._ I stare at the texts for another minute, brain grinding through them again in case I’ve missed some hidden meaning. _Maybe I should just...come back to these and respond later…_

But then I have to deal with Phil’s texts, have to deal with imagining his hips pressing mine into a soft mattress, his lips finding the exact spot on my neck to send a shiver up my spine, his hands gripping at my waist and pulling me closer. _I am...so fucked._ I don’t even know how he feels about me, this could very well be entirely one-sided.

 _“And I love you,”_ the words, in Phil’s _exact_ voice, float back through my head. I inhale deeply, then exhale, then open Jake’s conversation back up. _This is definitely much easier to deal with._

**Dan: __**_soz i was feeling pretty shit maybe another time?_

It’s safer than acknowledging his strange behavior. Before I can stop myself, or think too hard, I pull Phil’s conversation up. _I can just read it, that’s fine. That requires no thought._

**Phil: __**_yeah i mean its a little weird i know, lots of people think i’m strange for putting up snippets of my life like that_

**Phil: __**_but i love it! and i’m studying video production and effects so its good practice_

**Phil: __**_omg you would not BELIEVE the dream i had last night!!!_

My heart actually stops beating in my chest. _No, no way. I don’t believe in that shit._

**Dan: __**_what was the dream?_

I stare at the phone for a few moments, but Phil doesn’t respond immediately, so I lock it and let my arm fall across my bed. _Nope. I refuse to believe it._ In a huff, I stand, regretting it as soon as I do - my vision swims, but at least I manage to stay upright, then march off toward my bathroom for another dose of aspirin. 

Because I’m already up and, admittedly, my stomach has been emitting sounds to rival a dinosaur, I scrounge around in the kitchen until my standards are low enough to make myself some cereal. Even though I’m out of milk. _Beats not eating at all._ I vow to go shopping soon. _Tomorrow, maybe._ I’m too wiped out today, recovering - hopefully - from whatever bug has decided to incapacitate me.

By the time I’ve finished eating, my brain does its job and remembers that I’ve sent some texts and, _hey, maybe they’ve responded!_ I discard the bowl in the sink, another chore I swear I’ll complete later, then head back to my room. The sight of the crumpled sheets and duvet is enough to draw me back in, though, and I can feel my eyelids drooping the moment I land on the mattress.

\--------------------------

When a buzz pulls me from my half-sleep, I recall my original reason for returning to my room - and, of course, it’s already dark out. _Apparently this thing was just ready to kick my ass..._ I reach across the bed, nearly knocking my phone off and onto the floor, before snagging it by the corner and pulling it to safety. The light is bright, but my head’s no longer pounding, so I take it as a small victory.

 **Louise:** _ohhhhhh poor thing!! do i need to come over? i can make soup and be there in half an hour_

**Louise: __**_hellooooooo you okay hun?_

**Louise: __**_ooh i’m sorry you’re probably asleep just text me if you need me okay? you can borrow my notes from class_

I smirk at the last text - her notes are usually pretty shit, and she always ends up studying mine before the exam. 

**Dan: __**_i’m good thanks though im already feeling a little better. i’ll text you tomorrow and let you know_

My brows arch when I realize that - even though it’s been several hours since my text - Jake’s not yet responded. _Fine, two can play at that game._ I switch away from his conversation.

**Phil: __**_ALIENS there were so many aliens but they weren’t like green people they were like funny colored animals!_

**Phil: __**_have you ever seen a purple puppy cause i want one SO BAD now_

**Phil: __**_i can’t remember what else happened but i’m pretty sure i adopted a lot of colorful pets_

**Phil: __**_even cats though i’m allergic...i wasn’t allergic in the dream? idk haha_

I grin at the texts, then frown - _so he hadn’t had a weird fever dream about me?_ It’s a strange thing to be disappointed over, but I am. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Complex Number: a number expressed as an ordered pair comprising a real number and an imaginary number_


	6. Permutation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan has a choice to make: hot fling or the guy he's not so sure about?

I wake feeling _exceptionally_ rested, which is fantastic because I’ve got less than fifteen minutes to get to my first class for the day - Tuesdays are pretty hectic, the afternoon full of lectures and a couple discussion sections that usually leave me wrung out and mentally exhausted. I’ll need every ounce of sleep I got yesterday to make it through to the evening.

Fortunately, whatever illness had left me mostly bedridden seems to have released its grip; the only remnants of the shitty day are a strange fever dream and a feeling in my chest that I can’t shake. I chalk it up to the sore throat, or maybe some congestion. I also know that it isn’t either one, but I’m not sure I’m quite ready to acknowledge the actual cause.

 _Oh, fuck it. I like Phil, I just have to figure out if he feels the same._ It’s childish of me to pretend not to have feelings, though I’m still wary of the implications of that fever dream. If there are any.

I make it to class with a minute to spare - the lecture hall is nearby, thank god - and settle in; literature isn’t my favorite subject, nor are Greek tragedies, but at least it’ll keep my mind off that stupid dream. Because it was stupid, and means absolutely nothing. _I was sick, it was_ literally _a fever dream, nothing more to it._

Throughout class, I’m checking my phone, though - Louise hasn’t texted me back yet, which I expect has to do with her equally busy Tuesday schedule, and I’ve yet to get anything from Jake after my response last night. But I’ve left Phil’s texts on read for too long, and I’m itching to respond.

**Dan: __**_soz i was sick! alien dogs? sign me tf up_

It’s silly to excuse my lack of response when Phil hasn’t even mentioned it, but I feel bad that I’ve let the weird feeling hang over my head and prevent me from responding.

 **Phil:** _oh noooooo! are you okay?_

**Phil: __**_we can postpone tonight if you’re not feeling up to it_

**Dan: __**_no i’m feeling lots better now, a 24hr bug i think_

**Dan: __**_i’m really looking forward to tonight :)_

The moment I hit send, I can’t decide whether to properly regret sounding so cheesy or be glad I’ve put myself out there - maybe I can get a better idea of where we stand. _I don’t even know if this is a date or not._ I’m suddenly very tempted to ask.

**Phil: __**_me too :)_

After typing and retyping the message, almost hitting send four times, and ultimately deciding against it, my phone vibrates in my hand again. 

**Jake: __**_no prob babe you can make it up to me tonight ;)_

_Oh._ I shift in my seat, fully focused on my own tragedy rather than that of Antigone - _at least I can remember the text we’re reading…_ I _am_ excited to hang out with Phil tonight, but I don’t even know for sure what we are. _Would I be willing to miss out on a night of amazing- nope, can’t use_ that _particular adjective anymore -_ excellent _sex for something I’m not even sure is a thing?_

Instead of responding - to _either_ guy - I text Louise.

**Dan: __**_help i have two boys who both want to do stuff TONIGHT IDK WHAT TO DO_

I clench my phone in my hand, staring absently as the professor drones on about dead brothers and familial loyalty. _Come on, Louise, I need advice._ When the other students in the class begin packing up, I double-check the time: apparently, the entire lecture has passed without my noticing. _Fantastic._

I rush off to my next class - discussion section, actually - with my phone still gripped tight. Naturally, when it buzzes, I nearly toss the thing across the pavement in surprise. 

**Louise: __**_do you want real advice or just want me to tell you to follow your heart or something_

I roll my eyes, trying to walk and text at the same time.

**Dan: __**_both?_

I’d meant to say ‘ _real advice_ ’, but I know _exactly_ what my heart is telling me to do. I just want confirmation.

 **Louise:** _good answer, they’re both the same. i saw the way you looked at that phil guy, go for it!!_

This time, my eye-roll is fonder, and I send a quick thanks before pushing through the door into my next class. Since it’s a discussion section, and much smaller than my usual lectures, I’m forced to actually pay attention (sort of).

\-------------------------

By the end of it, my fingers tap impatiently on the edge of my notebook. _Come on, dismiss us already, I have very important texts to send._ By some miracle - or perhaps because of the continuous passage of time - the TA sends us on our way and it takes me all of five seconds to shove my journal in my bag and rush out into the hall.

My phone is in my hand a moment later, and I pull up Jake’s conversation first.

**Dan: __**_can’t tonight, had plans for ages, another night maybe?_

Okay, ‘ _ages_ ’ isn’t strictly true, but how do I say ‘ _oh sorry I have another maybe-date tonight so can we schedule our not-quite-date-more-hook-up-session for later this week?_ ’. It seems a bit too honest. Unwilling to wait for the passive-aggressive response I’m sure is coming, I switch over to Phil’s conversation. He’s since sent me a very excited corgi gif.

**Dan: __**_7, right?_

I _know_ we’re meeting at seven, but I sort of just want the excuse to talk to him, and every other topic I come up with falls short - he’d surely think I’m immensely boring, if he doesn’t already. This is a safe alternative.

Before I can think too hard on it, I pocket my phone and head off to my next class. It’s a long one, a two-hour snooze required for my law degree, but at least it’s another large lecture. I settle into my usual seat, the edge of a row halfway from the back, and pull out a notebook - I do actually have to pay _some_ attention during this class, since it’s halfway through the semester and I’m not off to a great start.

Thirty minutes into the lecture, my phone vibrates, and I manage to listen to the professor for another three minutes before I’m digging the device from my pocket. 

**Jake:** _what, got better plans than a night with me? ;)_

**Jake: __**_highly doubt that_

**Jake: __**_i’ll see you at the highball at nine and i expect those ripped jeans again ;)_

I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly through my nose. _I mean, the sex_ was _really good..._ for some reason, though, the words don’t resonate, and I end up grimacing as I look back down to my phone.

**Dan: __**_soz really can’t make it but let me know if you’re going out another night_

I’m not even a big fan of clubbing - too many people, too crowded, too _much_ ; the moment I send the text, a wave of relaxation rolls through my muscles and I slump further down in my chair. When I don’t immediately get an irritated response, my phone returns to my pocket and I do my best to focus on the lecture.

 _And of course, now I’m completely lost._ I’d barely had a grasp on whatever we were talking about before, and now we’ve moved on to another topic, but the professor might very well be speaking French for all I understand. I do my best to pick it up, but I’m only allowed about ten more minutes of stress - I’m hesitant when my phone buzzes again, but given that it _might_ be Phil, it takes less than ten seconds to decide to pull it out again.

 **Phil:** _yep as long as that still works for you!!_

**Phil: __**_t-minus two hours :)_

There’s another excited dog gif, a pomeranian this time, and I’m smiling down at the screen without intending to. A quick glance at the people seated nearby confirms, though, that nobody’s paying any mind to the guy grinning at his lap like an idiot. _Two hours…_

I suck in a breath, because _wow_ that snuck up on me. This lecture gets out in about an hour, and I still have to stop by the library to pick up a copy of the reading material I’ve been dutifully neglecting...it’s going to be _very_ close. 

\------------------------

I made it home with exactly two minutes to change - not that there’s anything wrong with my regular black jeans and t-shirt, but if this is a proper _date_ then I definitely want to make a good impression.

My hands hover over the ripped jeans in my drawer - I’d normally pick them out without hesitation, but I’m _still_ not fully sure what’s going on between Phil and I, and I don’t know if I want to come across as the insatiable flirt I usually aim for. With a sigh - _why_ _is this so complicated?_ \- I shove the drawer closed and settle for the jeans I’ve already got on. It’s not like I have copious amounts of time to hash out these decisions.

 _Fuck_. As I throw on my jumper - simple and grey, nothing extraordinary - and check my reflection in the mirror, I realize I’ve completely forgotten to straighten my hair. I dig my phone from my pocket to check the time, but - as expected - I’m already a minute late. 

“ _Why_ do these things always happen to me?” I groan to nobody in particular, running a hand through the fluffy curls before flicking off the light - and my straightener - and rushing out the door. _I have long legs, I can probably make up a couple minutes on the way._

And I actually manage to; I arrive _exactly_ on time, but frown when I don’t see Phil anywhere - we’re both tall, and his stick-straight black hair would stand out easily, towering above the crowd milling about the entrance to the cinema.

 _Well, it’s not like I was all that early,_ I scoff, tugging my phone from my pocket to pass the time. 

**Jake: __**_you know whatever else you’re doing wont be as good as me doing you ;)_

A thrill sends my skin tingling, and my mind races with flashbacks from last week. _Fuck. Am I really going to drop a sure thing for someone who may not even like me?_ I stare at Jake’s text for several minutes, not quite ready to respond; as the seconds tick by, though, temptation makes my fingers itch.

“Hey!” The voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I glance up to find a flushed, slightly-out-of-breath Phil trotting up to me. “Sorry I’m late, got caught up uploading a video,” he slows to a stop, beaming at me. _Yeah, yeah I’m absolutely sure I’m going to drop a hook-up if it means I get to see this for a few hours._

“No problem,” his smile is contagious, and I can’t help but return it. My phone finds itself back in my pocket without a second thought. “What was the video about?” He’s already turning, I assume headed toward the various restaurants nearby, and I’m a little surprised when his steps stumble.

“Oh! Uh, I mean, nothing too interesting. You can, uh, check it out later. Where do you want to eat?” I don’t miss the quick change in subject, and his cheeks have gone red again - I doubt it has to do with his journey here. _I wonder why he’s so flustered? And the video ‘isn’t interesting’?_ I know what I’ll be doing when I get home tonight.

“Uh, sure, I’m down for whatever,” I respond, too caught up in wondering why Phil didn’t want to give a straight answer. I’m vaguely aware that we’re walking side by side, that it would be very easy for me to brush his hand - or even take it - but nerves are creeping into my limbs and keeping them stiff, frozen; it takes another minute to realize the actual cause: I feel _shy._ Around Phil, I’m stressed about his reactions, afraid I’ll do or say something he won’t like, and then where will I be?

It’s a new feeling, not relying on flirtation, and I don’t like it. 

But I like _Phil_ , and I like being in his presence, so I shove my hands in my pockets and try to ignore my anxiety. 

“Oh!” Phil pauses, and I suck in a breath when his hand grabs my arm, stopping me beside him. “How do you feel about Chinese?” He’s pointing at a small takeout place, pretty generic-looking, but I was being honest - I don’t really care.

“Sure, works for me.” We cross the street, once again a safe distance apart. I can feel heat creeping up my cheeks when Phil pulls the door open, holding it for me instead of just walking through.

“After you,” he’s just grinning, like it might be a joke, so I attempt an eye roll and a laugh - both feel forced, and the sound hangs heavily in the warm air of the restaurant. 

There are only a few tables, most of which are occupied, but Phil’s already approaching the counter and scanning the menu; I move quickly to join him. _Probably..._ dumplings are my usual go-to, easy to eat and hard to make much of a mess, but I’m more in the mood for fried rice at the moment. 

When the woman comes over to the register, wiping her hands on her apron, I gesture at Phil to go ahead and order. _I’ll take my cue from him._

“The chicken chow mein for me, Dan?” Blue eyes fix me with an expectant look, and my mouth opens partway - purely a reflex - before I close it and step forward. _I guess it makes sense to put our orders together, and I’ll just pay him back._

“Uh...the fried rice? With chicken as well?” I decide at the last second, and Phil pulls out his wallet to pay.

“To go?” The woman asks, and I scan the tables around us - there’s still one open, but Phil responds before I can point it out.

“Yes, please,” and he’s handing over his card. _To go? Where are we going, then?_ I’m suddenly regretting my decision - dumplings would’ve been _much_ easier, depending on where he has in mind.

As we step back from the counter to wait, I fish out my own wallet and take out a couple bills. Phil must not notice at first; when I tap his arm and offer the money, he frowns down at it before looking up to me.

“ _I_ asked _you_ to come with me, you’re doing me a favor. Paying is the least I can do,” his confusion shifts to a soft smile, and he somehow manages to make me feel like I might _actually_ be doing him a favor. 

“Alright,” I mumble, too embarrassed to do anything besides shove the cash back in my wallet. “So…’to go’?” I ask, though it’s hardly a question. But waiting in silence is far too scary a prospect - I wouldn’t know what else to talk about, what could _possibly_ be intriguing for a mind like his, I’d be at a loss trying to impress him. Simple is safe, and I stick to it like glue.

“Yep,” is the only response I get, though - along with a smirk - just before Phil reaches for the bag the woman is setting on the counter. After a quick check of the contents, he grabs a few disposable silverware packages and tosses them in, then he’s heading for the door without another word. I can’t do anything but follow.

“Phil,” I trail behind the disappearing black jumper - one that, honestly, I’m a little envious of - as it pushes through the crowd; the streets are packed for a Tuesday evening, when I’d expect most people would have school or work in the morning. I brush past a woman who actually scoffs at me before I manage to catch up with Phil.

“ _Phil_ ,” I try again, exasperated but mostly just nervous. “Where are we going?” The crowd has thinned a bit, and he’s swinging our food in his left hand as we walk. His right hand is dangerously close to mine, and I’m once again tempted to just...take it. I don’t.

“A hotel!” He chirps, and I choke on air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Permutation: a particular ordering of a set of objects_


	7. Tangential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a hotel. No, it's not at all what Dan's expecting.

“I’m sorry, a _hotel_?” I stop in my tracks, fully balking at his implication; warmth creeps up my neck to my cheeks. _I guess I_ completely _misread where tonight was going_. When he turns back, my jaw may as well be on the floor.

“Oh, oh my gosh, not like _that_!” Then it’s _his_ face that’s flushed bright red, and the anxiety prickling along my skin dulls to a muted numbness. _Oh, of course not._ I clamp my mouth shut. “I mean, not that I, uh, _wouldn’t_ , like _ever_ , but just-” he purses his lips, and his wide eyes drift to the side of the street. I completely share the sentiment - I have _no clue_ what to say right now.

Instead of talking, he grabs my hand and tugs me gently - at a loss for what else to do, I follow. Where numbness had previously flattened my senses, they’re now on full alert. _He’s holding my hand. He said he didn’t_ not _want me._ I’m still unsure about our destination - _a hotel? Is he serious?_ \- and the extent of Phil’s feelings, but at least we haven’t taken a hard left into the Friend Zone. _Not that I’d mind, he seems like a spectacular person. I just...I know I want more._

That warm desire spreads from where Phil’s hand is clasped in mine and up my arm, fighting against the chill in the air, and I find myself drifting closer as we walk. If the proximity bothers Phil, he doesn’t show it, eyes fixed steadfastly on the pavement in front of us and lips pressed in a line; they look softer, though, than they did before. 

True to his word, we end up outside a hotel a few minutes later - a _classy_ one, at that: rich gold accents, ornate pillars, thick burgundy curtains draped across multi-story windows. I glance belatedly at my plain grey sweater and black jeans, nowhere near the level of sophistication I should have to step foot across the threshold.

For fuck’s sake, a _doorman_ holds the door for us as we approach, offering a curt nod, and Phil just waltzes on in like he owns the place. 

The lobby is every bit as luxurious as the exterior suggested, and my eyes can’t find a place to land: instead, they slide off the curves of lavish furniture and bounce from one piece of renaissance artwork to the next, barely able to digest the sheer _poshness_ of the whole place.

“ _Phil!_ ” I whisper-shout, afraid to make a sound that would disturb the air of affluence that coats the space. When he looks back, he must see something in my face that my tone didn’t convey, because he draws to a stop almost immediately.

“What’s wrong?” I wince - his voice, though at a perfectly regular volume, sounds harsh and loud; my eyes dart around, expecting to find a security guard headed toward us to toss us out.

“ _What are we doing?_ ” I can’t bear to bring my voice above a whisper, but Phil’s initial frown melts into a mischievous grin. 

“Come on _,_ just act like you belong,” he’s pulling me along again, and my stuttered steps echo loudly on the floor for a moment before we cross over onto plush carpets. Though I’m still awestruck by the whole endeavor, I keep my eyes fixed firmly on my feet in the hopes of drawing less attention.

Which, naturally, is how I end up colliding with Phil when he comes to a stop in front of a massive double-door. A _closed_ double-door, not that he seems to care. Purely on instinct, I grab his wrist when he reaches for the handle.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” I glance around, blowing out a breath when I find nobody nearby. “We can’t just…” I let go of him to gesture at the doors, the _closed_ doors, and Phil takes that opportunity to pull one of them open and drag me inside.

It’s dimly lit - not pitch black, but certainly dark - and my eyes don’t adjust for a few moments; Phil’s dropped my hand, so I hold my breath and stand in place until my vision improves.

When it does, it has more to do with the sudden flood of yellow-orange light from the wall sconces and false candelabras scattered around the room. Phil comes back with a grin on his face, taking my hand again and leading me to the nearest table.

In the moments before I sit, I recognize that the place is something of a lounge, with low drink tables and cushioned seating scattered around - there’s a cleared space on the other side which I assume to be a kind of stage, sporting a covered piano and some miscellaneous sound equipment.

In any case, the place is empty. 

“Phil,” I perch myself on the edge of the plum leather chair, muscles tensed as I wait for the inevitable alarms to go off. “We can’t be in here, it’s _closed_ ,” I watch, eyes wide, as he dutifully ignores me, pulling our food from the plastic bag. “ _We aren’t even guests,_ ” I lean forward to prevent us from being overheard, though I’m not sure by whom. “What if someone comes in here? Won’t we get kicked out?” I’m shifting on the seat, chewing at my lip. _How is he not worried?_

“The lounge doesn’t open til nine, and we’ll be long gone before then,” he just shrugs, setting my carton of fried rice in front of me. With our food safely removed, he dumps the remaining contents of the bag on the table and reaches for the plastic silverware.

“What, can’t handle chopsticks?” I tease, momentarily distracted from the danger of being caught. Phil only chuckles, so I grab a set and wield them with expert precision, stealing a piece of chicken from his chow mein before he can stop me.

“Just because we’re breaking rules doesn’t give you the right to be a thief!” He practically whines, pouting before stabbing at his noodles and taking a disappointed bite. _Adorable._

“M’unno,” I mumble around the chicken, swallowing before I continue, “you’ve awoken a villainous streak, we should go rob a bank after this,” I’ve refocused on my own food, but I glance up to find him smirking at me. My heart stutters in my chest.

The next few minutes pass in a silence broken only by general food-enjoyment noises, though I keep finding excuses to look over at Phil - quick peeks between bites, until I realize he’s very engrossed in his meal, and then long, self-indulgent stares. _He’s just...pleasing to look at._

Naturally, it’s during one of these moments that he happens to turn just slightly, and blue eyes lock with mine. For half a second. Then I’m intent on shoveling my remaining fried rice into my mouth as heat creeps up my face. _Great, now he probably thinks I’m being weird._

“Almost done?” My eyes go wide, and I nod as I swallow my final bite. He makes quick work of our trash, disappearing behind a bar off to the side and reappearing a moment later less one plastic bag. Then he’s back by my side, hand in mine and leading me from the chair.

I expect us to be leaving, but he brings me over to the covered piano instead. 

“Phil, what are you-” I’m interrupted by a heavy fluttering as he pulls the sheet off the piano and lets it fall to the ground in a crumpled pile. “ _Phil,_ ” I step back, “you can’t be serious! People will _hear_ something!” I’m whisper-shouting again, searching for cameras or something that’ll lead to our imminent capture.

“They won’t, trust me,” he’s let my hand fall to my side, and I can only watch in paralyzed shock as he sits at the piano and taps out Mary Had a Little Lamb in a stuttered staccato. “Come on!” He pats the bench beside him, scooting over so there’s just enough room for me, and leans against the music shelf. “What happened to the Dan that wanted to rob a bank five minutes ago?” There’s a tug in my chest - I _love_ the piano, always have - and it wars with my fear of being caught for all of three seconds.

In the end, the deciding factor is that I _really_ want to impress Phil.

“Scoot over, you spork,” I bump his hip with my own when I sit, though there’s room for us both, and he just chuckles before nudging me back. “Now, prepare for a _proper_ song,” a nervous grin tugs at my lips as he stills beside me. 

It’s been a while - school hasn’t been conducive to playing, not to mention the severe lack of a piano on which to practice - but my fingers find the keys easily enough, muscle memory carrying me through Ingenue without too many mistakes. It’s a quieter song, so I let it stay quiet, still on edge with the thought that anyone might wander by and hear the music.

“What song was that?” Phil’s voice is breathy when I finish, and I let my fingers rest lightly on the keys. It was nice to play again, especially on such a lovely piano.

“Ingenue, I know it’s hard to tell,” I’m blushing - _of course he didn’t recognize it, I hardly did the song any justice._

“Really?” I glance over, just for a moment, to find his eyebrows arched up his forehead. Then I’m ducking my head, pulling my fingers from the keys and staring at them in my lap. _Yeah, I shouldn’t be surprised._ “Your playing made it sound so much prettier than the original,” Phil’s voice is quiet again, but light and - _surely he’s just saying that, he didn’t mean it._

I lift my gaze again, anxious at what I might find, but it’s only Phil - _only_ , as if he could be simplified into anything, contained in any way. _Amazing. He really did pick such apt branding. Amazing Phil, truly._ I’m about to respond - maybe thank him, or something a normal human would do, in spite of my heart literally bursting from my chest - when a click at the other end of the room startles us both.

Before I can properly register what’s happening, Phil’s grabbed my hand and I’m being dragged from the bench toward a small alcove behind the stage area - it’s pitch black here, and I stumble into Phil as he skids to a stop.

“ _Phil, what’s-_ ” I’m cut off with a desperate shushing, then he utters some triumphant exclamation that my ears can’t quite process before inching a door open and pulling me through.

It’s bright - painfully so - when we emerge on the other side; objectively, I can tell it’s pretty standard lighting, but my eyes have adjusted to the relative darkness and I have to blink several times to fight back a watery sting.

Phil doesn’t give me much time, already leading me down the side of this new - and massive - room. It might be a banquet room, or a ballroom, large and spacious but moderately empty aside from a few scattered tables and chairs. 

“ _Phil_ ,” I try again, sneaking glances behind us - fortunately, the door remains closed, but my heart races along with our footsteps and I’m absolutely paranoid now. “Someone’s going to catch us, where are we going now?” I’m rewarded for my complaints with a quick glance from Phil over his shoulder, then he’s pulling open another door and slowing as we step out into what I recognize as the ornate lobby we’d originally entered through.

 _Oh thank god, we must be-_ but no, we aren’t leaving, because Phil - still quiet - is now taking me more casually down to a different door, one that certainly doesn’t lead outside.

“Come on,” he tugs me closer, and my mind stops thinking when his hand leaves mine to wrap around my waist. _Oh. This is nice._ And, as it turns out, I’m quite wrong - the door _does_ lead outside, sort of, because we step through it into a humid atrium.

I want to speak, to ask if we’re meant to be in here, if we’ll get in trouble, but I’m sort of speechless: dark, lush greens crawl from every corner of the space, framing a picturesque gazebo perched on the edge of a miniature stream; it’s so innately peaceful, I’m afraid to even _breathe_ for fear of sending the scene into chaos.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” For some reason, I expect his voice to echo off the high glass ceilings, but it comes out muted and soft. 

“It’s _beautiful_ ,” I’m not usually a plant person, but the space is so aesthetic that it’s hard not to appreciate; darkness has crept in from the nighttime sky, shading the colors to a dusky version of what they must look like during the day, and I wonder if this is how Phil’s bedspread would look in the earliest hours of the morning: a mixture of green and blue crumpled up just under his chin. _I think that would be just as beautiful._

Phil says something, which I miss completely, and then he’s guiding me toward the gazebo. I suck in a breath when I remember his arm around my waist, his body flush against my side; somehow, my hazy brain had managed to forget that. _Apparently, it was too busy wondering what it’d be like to sleep beside him._ Though I’m tempted to dismiss the thought as a ‘never gonna happen’, Phil’s arm _is_ still around my waist. Surely that’s more than platonic?

As if he can sense where my thoughts have wandered, he pulls away from me just slightly - we’re still walking, but his hand is lighter at my hip and we’re no longer connected from shoulder to thigh.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked, is this alright?” I actually manage to process his words this time, and glance over to form some kind of response. But the inky blackness has traveled to his features as well, and I’m back to imagining us in his bedroom, our heads sharing a pillow, just watching his wide blue eyes across from mine. 

Instead of words, I wrap my arm around him and pull him back beside me. _More than alright._ I can’t manage to say it aloud, but Phil doesn’t seem to mind; I feel a soft hum in his chest, resonating through his side and tingling against my skin. 

When the vibration travels down to my thigh, I frown. _Phone_ , my slow brain catches up to the sensation, and I step clear of Phil to fish in my pocket. He pauses beside me, hand still resting on my lower back, and I do my best to focus on the screen.

**Jake: __**_you’re late_

I glance at the corner of my screen, and reality comes crashing in around me.

“Phil, we’re late!” I’m already spinning back toward the door - it’s past nine now, though I’m more focused on the movie we’re already missing than the fact that Jake’s annoyed I haven’t showed up yet. _I told him I wouldn’t._

“Oh!” Phil’s voice echoes behind me, then he’s beside me with his own phone in hand. “It looks like we’ve missed the first third of it, maybe we should just reschedule?” I slow to a stop, because he’s already done so, and turn to face him; his brows arch up his forehead, and I’m having trouble finding any indication he’s disappointed.

“Yeah, I’m sorry-” I start, intent on apologizing; I have no idea what I’d be apologizing for, but Phil doesn’t let me worry about figuring that out.

“I had a fantastic time, there’s no reason to apologize,” his gaze has softened, and a small smile curls his lips. “I’m the one who promised a movie and failed to deliver!” His eyes squint, words on the edge of laughter, and I offer him a smirk in return.

“I guess you’ll just have to make it up to me, then,” I saunter closer, letting my lids drift low. _This is something I know how to do._ When Phil _laughs_ , my heart stutters in my chest. _Shit, maybe I_ am _reading this all wrong_. 

“A movie and a proper fancy date, then?” _He’s a fucking rollercoaster, jesus._ I inhale sharply, eyes going wide for a moment before I reign in my reactions. 

“I suppose that’ll have to do,” I turn, tossing the words over my shoulder with every ounce of confidence I’m struggling to feel. I can hear his footsteps as he follows me out of the atrium - which, frankly, is a shame to leave behind - but I don’t stop until I’m stood outside the hotel. 

There’s an awkward moment of pause where I’m not sure if I should say something or if he’s about to talk, so I just stare at his parted lips and try not to think too hard about how much I’d love to have my tongue between them.

“Dan?” I blink at Phil’s voice, at the slip of time that seems to have passed without my noticing, and hum in response. “You spaced out for a second there, I’ve got some stuff going on tomorrow but are you free Thursday?” 

“Thursday, yeah,” I nod, still in a bit of a fog - well, it’s more a dream, the way I’m imagining things going. _Thursday, a proper date, Phil..._ it’s all very tantalizing. 

“I’ll text you, yeah?” His voice is suddenly close, breath on my neck, and then his lips brush my cheek for the briefest moment before disappearing. Then _he’s_ disappearing, down the street in the direction opposite the way I have to go.

My hand traces over the ghost of his kiss, and I’m struck by how something so simple has me utterly head over heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Tangential: diverging from a previous course or line_


	8. Null

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depression's a hell of a drug. A depressant, specifically, and Dan's really not having a great day.

In the wake of _Phil_ , everything feels dull and muted. At first, I chalk it up to the sudden lacking of light, of the enigma of Phil and all his quirkiness, but it still hasn’t subsided by the time my head hits my pillow several hours later, and I sigh.

 _Sure_ , I chastise my brain, _now’s the perfect time to fall into a depressive episode, thanks for asking!_ At least I have almost two days before I’m meant to be seeing Phil again - two sleeps, two chances to wake up feeling normal. When I close my eyes, it takes a blessedly short amount of time to fall asleep.

\--------------------

When I wake, it’s to the sun streaming through the windows, past the curtains I forgot to close last night; unfortunately, I find the light abrasive, a harsh reminder that no, I still don’t feel better. I don’t really _feel_ anything.

 _At least it’s not a sad day._ My low feelings come in two flavors: either I’ll be empty, sort of a shell, nihilistic and unmotivated, or I’ll be inconsolably lonely, sure that nobody cares, nobody _could_ care, because I’m worthless and useless, et cetera, et cetera. Empty is manageable, sad is...well, it’s just _sad_.

I lay in bed a while longer, exhaling deep, slow breaths against my pillow as I try to work up the desire to stand. I know I have class, and the rational part of my head acknowledges that - given the angle of the sun slanting through my window - I probably need to be on my way soon, but every other piece of me insists that missing a single lecture isn’t likely to make a difference in the long run. _It’s one lecture, not like I really understand what’s going on in the class anyway._

After pondering this for...some time, I come to the conclusion that no, the universe would not really care if I skipped one class. So I close my eyes - not to sleep, I’m not _tired_ , just _weary_ \- and let myself mull over all the things in my head I’ve been avoiding. There’s a fifty-fifty shot this’ll help, though the other half is that I’m likely to send myself spiraling. 

When images of the past week flood my mind, I put a hard stop to all thought by standing quickly from my bed. _I do_ not _need reminders of every embarrassing moment, every way this week went wrong._ Instead, I focus on placing myself under a torrent of hot water, then filling my stomach, then getting lost in the depths of the internet for a while.

It’s only once I’m there that I remember Phil - well, _Amazing_ Phil. _He posted a video yesterday..._ I’m about to click onto his channel when I remember the flush of his cheeks when he mentioned it, how quick he’d been to change the subject. _What if he doesn’t want me to…?_

Naturally, I open up the latest video anyway.

\----------------

I don’t know what his thought process was in making it, or uploading it, or even _mentioning_ it to me, but _fuck_ it’s hot - in a strange, Phil sort of way, but _hot._ I suddenly have a whole new respect for Toxic.

Of course, it’s still _Phil_ , and watching the video has me once again wondering how he could _possibly_ find me intriguing enough to hang out with. Hell, to take on a ‘proper date’, whatever he means by that. His mind works on a completely separate level, I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended up robbing a bank simply because I’d mentioned it offhand.

 _Oh god..._ memories from last night flood in on a tidal wave that I can’t stop, replaying every mortifying moment in perfect HD: each awkward word, every time I felt heat rush to my cheeks, every failed attempt at flirtation. _I’m a mess, I wonder how long it’ll take him to figure that out._

_I should save him the trouble._

It’s not nearby, so I wander over to my bed to grab my phone. I have a lot of messages, but I ignore them in favor of responding to Phil’s.

**Phil: __**_i had the best time thanks for being a criminal with me :)_

A ghost of a smile crosses my lips before decidedly morphing into a frown. 

**Dan: __**_it was fun but maybe idk if its such a great idea to go out again_

I chew at my lip, then toss my phone onto my bed. After a moment, I flop down beside it - either he’s going to respond, and I can at least get his inevitable crushing rejection out of the way, or he won’t, and I can wallow for a bit. In either case, my limbs have decided they’re done moving for a while, and I can’t really blame them.

When my phone buzzes, it’s a war between deadened muscles and a slow-thumping heart in my chest; eventually, my heart wins, picking up pace and forcing my hand to reach for the phone.

 **Phil:** _oh okay i mean if thats what you want_

**Phil: __**_no pressure or anything i just had a really good time_

**Phil: __**_and i really like you!!!_

**Phil: __**_sorry if that was too much :( i do like you though so maybe if you change your mind let me know?_

I stare at the words, waiting for them to rearrange themselves in a way that makes sense to my self-deprecating train of thought. After a few long moments of the words staying resolutely in the same order, I let out a sigh and bury my face in my duvet. _Why is he so nice?_ Now I have to make an actual effort to explain why I’m being such a- _oh._ He _thinks_ he likes me, he barely _knows_ me. I doubt he’ll stick around if he knows how messed up I am. _Who would?_

**Dan: __**_i like you too but tbh im depressed right now so_

I leave it hanging - this is entirely uncharted territory, telling a random guy about my mental illness, but the snarky side of my brain is kindly reminding me that it won’t matter what I say, he won’t want to stick around. 

Instead of facing the inevitable ‘ _oh I’m so sorry...and also let’s never hang out again_ ’ text I know is coming or the mental effort it’ll take to process the accompanying emotions, I toss my phone across the bed. When it vibrates again, I groan; the ball’s in my court, and it’s up to _me_ to decide if I can handle reading a response.

Or...maybe not? The buzzing doesn’t stop, and after a few more seconds, I lift my head. 

Phil’s _calling_ me.

I stare at the lit screen for several seconds, half wishing it would go dark again. My heart thuds in my chest, anticipation tingling to the ends of my limbs, and I finally reach over and answer the call. Instead of dragging it to my ear, I switch it to speaker.

“ _Dan?_ ” His voice sounds... _concerned_ , and I almost hang up right then. _I can’t do pity, not right now._

“Hm?” I groan into the bedspread, loudly enough that I’m fairly certain he can hear.

“ _Can I help?_ ” My eyebrows lift, though I’m still face-down on the mattress. _Help? I don’t think he understands how this interaction is meant to be going: I say I’m depressed, he says ‘oh that’s a shame, bye forever!’ and he never wants to speak again._

“I’unno,” is what I manage to say, still utterly baffled that he hasn’t hung up yet.

“ _Would a distraction help?_ ” _Yes. I don’t want to think._

“I guess, but I don’t really want to go anywhere,” I’ve finally crawled closer to the phone, propping myself up on my elbows and staring at the faceless contact picture with Phil’s name - and the lion - under it. _Maybe I can get him to take a picture for me._ The thought is terrifyingly intimate, though it doesn’t feel like it should be. _It’s just a picture…_

“ _I’ll be over in twenty minutes!_ ” I’m about to protest, because I’m not entirely sure having Phil _in my flat_ is a great idea, but there’s a beep and I watch my screen go dark again.

I almost jump out of my skin when it lights up, showing - among a thousand other messages - a new text from Phil.

**Phil: __**_i have no idea where you live!!!!!! did not think this through_

I scoff, a sound that almost resembles a laugh, and type out my address before I can stop myself. After a few moments of staring at my phone with a stupid grin on my face - one that has _no business_ being there - I spring from my bed.

 _Fuck, my flat-_ it’s not _gross_ or anything, but it’s certainly messy and cluttered. And if his timing is accurate, I’ve now got less than twenty minutes to make it semi-presentable. First objective: my bedroom, currently littered with clothes and miscellaneous papers I couldn’t be bothered to actually put away properly.

 _Why am I worried about my bedroom?_ I fight the tiny blush that creeps up my cheeks, focusing intently on shoving stray shirts into drawers at random.

By the time I’m finished, I run a cursory check of my kitchen and lounge - both in mercifully decent shape, aside from a few pens or wayward utensils from past meals - then slide into my bathroom with two minutes to spare.

While the bathroom is equally clean, I groan at my reflection in the mirror: half-dry curls stare back at me, just beginning to turn fluffy. _Great, this is the second time in as many days he’ll see me looking like a mess._

I frown, already lifting a hand in a futile attempt to tame my hair into something presentable, when a buzz sounds at my door. _This’ll be great, now I can experience his rejection in person!_ My brain kindly butts in; I exhale a long, slow breath and squeeze my eyes shut before blinking them open to take a final look at my reflection. _Here goes nothing, I guess._

My hand lingers on the doorknob for a moment, because opening the door will make this _real_ ; Phil will actually see me like this: in sweatpants and an old t-shirt that I forgot to change out of, with bags under my eyes and a voice that’s still creaky from sleep, and wallowing in my own head. I wonder how long it’ll take him to turn tail and run - I’d be gone in minutes.

Another - decidedly _impatient_ \- buzz sounds, startling me from my thoughts, and I pull the door open. 

Phil’s just stood there, beaming like I hung the stars in the sky and toting a bag full to the brim with-

“I brought popcorn! And movies, a whole bunch of different kinds we can watch, and sweets, and we can order pizza or something too!” He’s already moving toward me, and I can’t do anything other than step back and let him in. The door shuts behind him, and my eyes follow his progress into my lounge. “So what are you in the mood for? I brought horror movies, action, some romcoms- I know, don’t judge!” He tosses a look back over his shoulder, accompanying it with a giggle, but I’m still rooted to the spot.

“Dan?” I blink, finally managing to break free of my paralysis when I hear my name, and convince my limbs to move toward him. It’s like walking through jelly. “Are you alright?” I can’t decide how to respond, but Phil’s eyes go wide. “I mean, obviously not- uh, not _obviously_ or anything, but, like you said, you’re, uh…” I’m finally standing near him, watching the blush crawl up his cheeks as he tries to salvage his original meaning. 

“I know,” my voice is soft, because I _do_ know what he meant. And it’s clear he’s struggling even more than I am right now. I give him a small smile.

“Sorry, I just, I’m not really good at this,” Phil chuckles, and it’s such a nice sound that I let it fill my head for a while as I skirt past him and dig through the bag he’s set on the table. 

“That’s alright,” I mumble, “is this fine?” I hold up the only horror movie he brought - I’m not really in the mood for anything lighthearted. Phil seems to have recovered from his moment of awkwardness, because he’s already over by my TV and messing with the remote.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, of course!” He shoots me a quick grin, then turns back to the TV. 

“Actually,” my cheeks flush red, and I rub my thumb across the cover of the DVD case. “Can we just watch in my room?” I bite my lip and drop my gaze the moment Phil spins around, but the bed is infinitely softer than the sofa, and I just need to be comfy right now.

“Sure, do you want to get the popcorn started or the movie?” I peek up at him, but he’s just fixed me with a brilliant smile, and my tongue forgets how to function; in place of words, I hand over the movie and point at my laptop, then grab the popcorn and rush off to the kitchen. 

During the two minutes and thirty-six seconds that it takes to sufficiently pop the popcorn - just a little on the burnt side - I contemplate what the actual fuck is going on: for starters, being around people usually _saps_ my energy. I’m exhausted, sure, but it’s more to do with the way my heart’s racing and the nerves tingling just _thinking_ about being close to Phil. I don’t feel drained, not the way I expect to. 

On top of that, _Phil is here._ In my flat, my lounge, my fucking _bed_ in a few minutes - I’m not sure where the idea comes from, but I think he actually _wants_ to be here. With me. _I have no clue what’s wrong with him, but I’m not about to complain_. I’ll take every second of him I can get - it’s rare I actually enjoy someone’s presence, aside from in the bedroom.

Speaking of, I make my way to mine, now armed with a bowl of warm popcorn, to find Phil already settled under the duvet with my laptop sat on his lap.

 _My fucking laptop, where I was absolutely watching AmazingPhil videos prior to this weird situation I’ve landed in._ My feet falter, but Phil just looks up and grins - _always smiling, how’s he always smiling like that?_ My heart melts; my bones do the same when he pulls the covers aside and pats the space, inviting me in. 

The movie is already full-screen when I sit down, so I have no clue if he saw I had the video up; I do my best to keep a respectable distance between us, I don’t want him to think I’m trying to get in his pants - I _am_ , but not at this exact moment. _Oh god, what if he doesn’t even want me like that at all?_

 _Shut it, he wants to take you on a proper date, for fuck’s sake. Get over yourself._ Exhaling slowly, I force my muscles to relax, leaning back against my headboard and pulling the duvet up to my hips. Because Phil’s lap is currently occupied with a laptop, I set the bowl down on mine and pop a few pieces of popcorn in my mouth. 

I’m doing a spectacular job of feigning casual aloofness - well, it’s more a zoned-out kind of feeling, but it achieves the same goal - until an arm wraps around me and pulls me close. Were it _anyone_ else, my skin would be tingling and I’d be focused on the exact next move I need to make, exactly the right flirtatious comment; as it stands, it’s Phil, and he’s warm and cozy and I let myself be drawn into his chest. It’s _comfortable_ , I fit. _Like home, or like home should feel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Null: lacking distinctive qualities; having no positive substance or content_


	9. Function

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic fluff.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but it’s dark when I finally wake - the room is fully black, aside from a soft blueish glow coming from the dimmed screen of my laptop.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” the voice startles me more than anything, though I feel like my position _should_ startle me: I’m all but draped over Phil, cheek resting against his chest and arm across his stomach, and my leg’s even gone and decided to twine with one of his. I’m a bloody _koala_ , but I can’t be bothered to move.

It’s strange, too, that it’s not the same low, unmotivated ‘can’t be bothered’ I was feeling before; instead, it’s more of a light, dizzy carelessness, and I want to be unnerved, but...it’s peaceful. 

Instead of responding, I hum into his chest and let my eyes drift shut. I’m not sleepy, not really, but Phil is still incredibly comfortable. And he hasn’t shoved me off yet.

“Do you want to watch something else?” I grunt noncommittally - I don’t really want to get up, but I’m not sure I’m in the mood for another movie. “Or we can just go to sleep?” Phil tries, and his arm pulls me a little closer - if that’s even possible. _We?_

“You don’t have to go,” I mean it as a question, concerned he might have somewhere else to be - and giving him an out, just in case - but my tone is makes it sound like it could be a statement instead. _Either way, I suppose._

“I’ll stay,” he chuckles around the words, “but I have to pee, so you _do_ have let me up,” I let out some exasperated noise I’m really not proud of - _am I that clingy, already?_ \- then uncurl from Phil’s side. He’s up a moment later, and I flop down on the bed in the space of warmth he’s left. The sheets smell like him - something warm and earthy and _Phil_ \- and I lay there until he gets back.

He appears in the corner of my vision - only part of my eye is still exposed to the world outside the mattress - and I watch him take my laptop and set it on my desk, then come to a stop beside my bed.

“Well now you’re taking up the whole thing,” he nudges my arm, which I’ve left extended out to dangle off the edge. Curious what he’ll do, I grin into the sheets and make a point of stretching out even farther - I’m easily tall enough to take up more space. “Okay, then,” Phil’s voice edges on teasing, and I’m about to peek up from the mattress to see what he’s got planned.

I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t a full-grown man flopping down on top of me.

With an indignant groan, I shove at the nearest limb, pushing myself up at the same time - fortunately, it seems I’ve caught his shoulder, and he rolls off easily. I look up to find his lips pursed into the tightest line, clearly trying not to laugh, and I stave off my own smile with a forced frown.

It lasts all of three seconds, then we’re both dissolving into a fit of laughter; it ends with us both breathing heavily against the pillows, my duvet crumpled around us. Despite the low lighting, Phil’s eyes shimmer across from mine, and I’m thrown back to last night. _I did not expect to see this sight in real life, and certainly not so soon._ I’m fascinated by the way his lips part, just slightly, like he’s about to speak.

“Could I borrow some sweatpants?” _Not the declaration of love I was- love? Don’t be daft. Not love._ I cycle through a range of emotions in less than a heartbeat, then nod and prop myself up on an elbow.

“Yeah, top drawer,” I point at my dresser, and Phil rolls off the bed to investigate. _This wouldn’t be the first time I had a guy stay over, but whatever this is, it’s far from conventional._ Even the _word_ ‘conventional’ - and ‘ordinary’, and ‘normal’ - falls hopelessly short of this. Of Phil. I’ll admit it, to myself, in my head: I’m enamored. Infatuated. Captivated and enchanted. 

And then I’m nearly choking on my breath when he drops his jeans to tug on a pair of my sweatpants. It’s not like I’ve never seen a guy in boxers before, or even _less_ , but with Phi, everything up to now has been very firmly on the other side of the line. Whatever the line is. But it feels like we’re toeing it, now, coming dangerously close - it’s exhilarating and terrifying.

I’m still even after Phil crawls back under the duvet, straightening it out so it covers us both, only dropping back to the pillow once he’s done the same. _He is exactly as beautiful as I imagined._

We stay that way for a while longer, just existing in silence - I wouldn’t even begin to know what to say right now - before my eyelids and consciousness finally lose their war with my heart and I’m drifting off to sleep.

\--------------------

I swear I dream of blue eyes and black hair and bright smiles, though everything slips from my grasp the moment I wake. The bed is cold and empty.

For a moment, I wonder if everything from last night was just a vivid dream. _It certainly wouldn’t be the first time._ But the covers are flipped up over me, and I can _swear_ I hear sounds from somewhere else in the flat. _Please tell me this wasn’t a dream._

Fear anchors me to the bed, only narrowly overcome by excitement when I acknowledge that there is, in fact, some small possibility that this is real, that Phil is _here_ ; I roll off the bed, standing slowly but overall pleased to find that the worst I feel at the moment is hungry and anxious.

I’m just working up the courage to step out of my room when I hear a clattering from the kitchen. _Either Phil or a very shitty burglar._ A smile tugs at my cheek as I make my way past the lounge, rubbing absently at my eyes.

“Oh good, it’s not a burglar,” I toss the comment offhand, smirking when Phil straightens from bending over to the floor with an actual jump. 

“Oh! Oh my gosh, you scared me!” His fear dissolves into a nervous giggle, and he returns to collecting the bowls from the floor. “Sorry,” he says, “I dropped them, I didn’t mean to wake you.” I can’t keep the grin off my face - something about him is just so _sweet_.

“You didn’t,” I shake my head, “I was already up. Trying to destroy my kitchen?” I take a few steps closer, not entirely sure what the protocol is for...whatever we are, whatever last night was.

“I thought you might want some breakfast,” he steps aside, gesturing toward the open cereal box and two bowls he managed not to drop, “but your bowls just _launched_ themselves at me! Can’t they see I’m taken?” I drop my gaze, blush creeping up my cheeks, and try desperately not to grin too brightly. I don’t think I succeed.

 _Taken. Are we something, then?_ My feet shuffle over to stand a little closer, and I lean against the counter, still feeling incredibly unsure. When I dare a glance up at Phil, he’s just watching me, lips curled in a small smile.

“That’s okay, that I say that? Because I think I’ve mentioned this, but I _really_ like you,” now he’s looking away, smile turning shy in the face of his admission. 

“After seeing me at my lowest yesterday, you still like me?” Apparently, I can’t be anything other than sarcastic, so I do my best to roll with it. “Yeah, I guess I’ll keep you around for a while,” I tease, though I’m thoroughly aware how soft my tone turns at the end.

We ultimately decide he does have to leave _eventually,_ though - from my flat, anyway. I have class, as does he, and he’s got a few things he needs to take care of that he didn’t get round to yesterday.

“Was that my fault?” I chew a bite of cereal, though the sudden swirling in my gut has me feeling far less hungry. “You said you had stuff to do yesterday, I hope you didn’t drop it all just to watch me sleep for a couple hours,” my eyes stay resolutely fixed on my half-empty bowl, because looking up would be too hard.

“Trust me, a night with you was worth postponing a few things,” he assures me, and I feel the return of the never-really-gone blush I’ve had all morning. And the smile - _that_ refuses to go away as well.

I insist on cleaning up the moment Phil mentions he’s a bit late for his class, though he doesn’t leave until I’m practically shoving him out - just as he’s finally on his way out, he drops the reminder that he still promised me a _proper_ date this evening.

“And I do mean _proper_ , wear something nice,” he adds as I inch the door shut behind him. Before I can ask what exactly _that’s_ supposed to mean, he’s gone. I lean heavily against the wood frame, heart racing. _Nice?_

\----------------

The afternoon passes in a blur: all I can think about is Phil, tonight, a _proper date_. I don’t even remember that I own a phone until I’m in class, trying to figure out how to pass the time - it’s another law lecture, and frankly, I can’t be bothered to pay attention. When I pull my phone out, I frown.

**Jake: __**_better not be standing me up babe_

**Jake:** _what like you’ve got something better to be doing?_

**Jake: __**_wow way to be a fucking tease_

**Jake: __**_shame you couldn’t make it last night, had to bring someone else home_

**Jake: __**_he was good but didnt moan quite as pretty as you_

**Jake: __**_you’ll have to make it up to me, lets try again tonight_

**Jake: __**_same time same place_

**Jake: __**_or i may have to find another pretty boy to take to bed ;)_

Reading his texts is an emotional whiplash, but every feeling has been dulled to a third of its original strength; frankly, responding seems like it’ll do more harm than good at this point. I mute his conversation, just in case he gets any ideas about trying to guilt-trip me into skipping my date with Phil tonight, then flip to Louise’s.

**Louise: __**_HOW WAS THE DATE_

**Louise: __**_it was a date right? I NEED DETAILS_

**Louise: __**_omg do not tell me you went home with him ON THE FIRST DATE_

**Louise: __**_i mean if you did thats okay babe no shame but I THOUGHT YOU WEREN’T SURE ABOUT HIM HMMMMM?_

**Louise: __**_if you don’t respond i will come track you down and wring the details out of you_

**Louise: __**_THATS IT when class is over i will find you and we will have WORDS_

I chuckle under my breath at her texts, a hand over my mouth to prevent any sound from escaping into the auditorium around me, then send a quick response.

**Dan: __**_tomorrow we can grab lunch and i’ll fill you in there is A LOT going on right now_

I set her conversation to silent as well, knowing my text will only spur a flood of messages. I spend the remainder of the lecture tapping absently at the wooden top of my desk and letting my imagination run wild with the events the evening might hold.

\----------------------

The moment I get back to my flat, I fire up my straightener - I refuse to go somewhere nice with fluffy curls. While it’s heating, I rifle through my wardrobe. _Do I still have that-_ my fingers catch on the edges of a stiff shirt: a simple button-down - black with light grey accents - that I rarely have occasion to wear. _He said to dress nice, this is easily the nicest shirt I own._

The shirt ends up laid out on my bed, and I examine it quickly for any errant threads or stains. _Wouldn’t that be embarrassing._ After careful scrutiny, I’m satisfied it’s clean, and I dive into my drawer - I really don’t have any nice trousers, so I fish out my sleekest pair of black jeans. _I hope this is nice enough._

By the time I’m dressed and standing in front of my mirror, I’ve got about ten minutes - Phil said he’d pick me up at five after five, since the movie’s at five fifteen, and we’d be going somewhere for dinner afterward. As I burn my hair into submission, I watch my reflection’s cheeks turn red. _Fantastic, now I’ll look all flustered as well._ A horrible side effect of the trials I have to endure to look decent.

I’m just switching the straightener off when the buzzer sounds, and I take a final glance in the mirror. _Well,_ I think, running a hand through my still-warm fringe, _I guess this’ll have to do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Function: a variable quantity regarded in relation to one or more other variables in terms of which it may be expressed or on which its value depends_


	10. Fractal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE DATE

“Hi- oh,” is all I can manage, because Phil looks _amazing._ A tiny piece of my brain chuckles at the adjective choice, but he really does: his bright blue button down - accented with tiny whales - makes his eyes stand out, and I swear they’re deeper and more vibrant than the last time I saw him. _How does he just keep getting prettier?_

“Hi yourself,” his eyes make no apologies as they rove my body, and I’m suddenly _sure_ the temperature’s jumped twenty degrees. 

“Uh, is this alright? Nice enough?” I’m staring at the door frame, the doorknob, my shoes, then Phil’s - anywhere except his face. He’s silent for a long moment, and I’m tempted to peek up at him, to try to decipher his expression since he’s not using words, but-

“Yeah,” it’s breathy, low, and I bite my lip. “Yeah, it- you look... _wow_ ,” now I glance up, surprised I’m able to draw such a reaction from him. _He’s_ the one who deserves admiration here, and I let myself stare. Then there’s an awkward moment of throat-clearing, shuffling feet, and Phil moves back, gesturing for me to step out into the hall.

We walk to the theater mostly in silence, only interrupted when I finally ask what exactly this movie’s meant to be about.

“Horror, I know, but I don’t think I ever got the specifics,” I clarify, then watch Phil’s lips part. “But no spoilers!” It’s silly, but I _hate_ going into a new movie - or show, or book, or _anything_ \- with too much of an idea of what’s going on. A baseline is good, but I like to be surprised by the majority of the content.

“Of course not!” He looks shocked that I’d feel the need to state that aloud, eyes wide and brows raised. He goes on to explain that it’s got a premise of possession, but doesn’t go much further than that. Then we lapse back into silence.

After a minute - during which I am intently focused on the pavement as it disappears under our feet - a warm hand twines with mine, and I suck in a breath. Phil’s tentative, his grip incredibly gentle, and I allow myself a quick glimpse of his face before returning my gaze to the ground.

It’s an incredible snapshot: blue eyes just wider than usual, lip curled in a hesitant smile, cheeks dusted pink. Because I’m not sure what to say, or perhaps because words wouldn’t be enough to express just how light I feel, I squeeze Phil’s hand in mine. It’s brief, and I refuse to look up, but I can feel his grip tighten. When his thumb rubs across the base of mine, I swear my heart stops beating.

Though it might be going triple-time; I can’t say for sure, and I don’t get the opportunity to ponder it for long, because we’re stood outside the cinema and Phil’s buying our tickets and we’re getting a bowl of popcorn to share and I have this vague sense of deja-vu. 

“What do you think, this row?” He’s stopped us halfway to the back, and I nod absently. _Why does this feel so...normal?_ It’s like I’ve up and transported into a life where I do this, with Phil, on a regular basis. Where I’m _with_ him on a regular basis. I stumble to a stop when he plops down in one of the chairs, then settle in the seat next to him. He’s got the popcorn and releases my hand to balance it on his lap and dig in.

I am, of course, pulled from that silly string of pseudo-normalcy when Phil grabs my arm at the first jumpscare. Which could hardly be argued to even _be_ a jumpscare, given it was just some old guy talking unexpectedly. My eyes follow the hand on my arm up to Phil’s wide eyes, and he gives me a sheepish look before pulling back.

“Maybe,” I lean over, whispering - I _hate_ when people talk during movies, but this is actually important - “we should hold hands, just to be on the safe side?” I let my tone slip into something flirtier than I usually use with Phil, but he just smirks at me before recapturing the hand he’d been holding earlier.

“Don’t worry, you don’t need to be afraid when I’m around!” He’s whisper-shouting, and his breath tickles my neck; I have to suppress a shiver.

It’s all of two seconds later when he jumps again - for a _proper_ jumpscare this time - and I lean back to him, letting my lips graze dangerously close to his earlobe. 

“That’s alright, you don’t have to be brave,” I mean for it to sound teasing, but it comes out a little heartfelt and serious. Instead of continuing the banter, though, Phil just rests his shoulder against mine as soon as I move back; my chest warms, spreading heat to my cheeks alongside a stupid bright grin that I’m glad nobody in the dark theater can see.

\-------------------------

By some miracle, we manage to survive the rest of the movie - though my hand has seen better days, sort of crushed but in a way that I can’t be bothered to be upset about. My nerves had, for the most part, calmed in the past hour and a half. Well, my Phil-related ones. My demon-possession-related ones have gone haywire.

“So what’d you think?” I’m still lost in my head when Phil’s words reach my ears, though we’ve already been walking for a couple minutes. The air outside is cool and crisp, and I take a deep breath with the hopes of clearing my mind. _The movie. Focus on the movie._

“Fantastic, I won’t sleep for weeks!” I enthuse, and his laughter reminds me of music - one of those songs I could listen to on repeat for hours on end. _Wow, I’m a sap now, am I?_

“Me either! I mean, that one scene, with the kid’s head bent all backwards?” He shudders, and I chuckle. “I guess we’ll just have to not sleep together!” My eyes go wide, and I trip on what is almost _certainly_ absolutely nothing - at least I manage not to face-plant on the concrete.

“Oh! Uh, yeah,” I let out a weak laugh, hoping my stumble wasn’t too obvious. _He didn’t mean_ together _together, he just meant..._ I do my best to drag my mind out of the gutter, though it seems more than content to stay there for a while. _We have a nice dinner to go to, none of that now._ It’s a bit like scolding a puppy who’s too busy having fun to know it’s doing anything wrong.

If Phil noticed anything, he doesn’t say, and we turn the corner down a street I don’t really recognize. He pulls me to a stop just outside a dimly lit restaurant; a small sign hangs above then entrance, declaring the place ‘ _Cerise_ ’. The doorway itself is plain wood, the overall vibe unexpectedly unassuming. _This is his idea of ‘nice’? What happened to the fancy hotel from-_

 _Oh._ He drops my hand and holds the door for me, and I frankly feel I couldn’t have been more wrong: much like the hotel, deep gold accents line the walls from the inside and curtains drape the windows in luscious sweeps - though the colors verge more on crimson than maroon. Ornate candelabras adorn every table, and there’s a whole wall of wine near the back of the place. The entire atmosphere demands to see my paycheck, to ensure I can _actually_ afford to be here. I most certainly cannot.

“Yes, for Lester?” Phil’s voice draws me from my gaping, and I slam my mouth shut, afraid someone’s seen me and is ready to escort me out. ‘ _Sir, it’s clear you have no right to be here, this is for fancy, posh, rich people only,_ ’ I hear a snooty voice in my head - with a French accent, for some reason.

But Phil’s hand never leaves mine, and it’s not another moment before he’s leading me - well, the waiter is leading us - to our table. 

I won’t lie, the prices on the menu give me an actual heart attack.

“ _Phil,_ ” I peek over the top of the menu to fix him with a hard gaze, though his eyebrows only lift slightly. “You can’t be serious, this place is…” I flounder for the right word, eyes darting around the dimly lit space; eventually, unable to summon a word pretentious enough, I lock eyes with Phil again and shrug.

“Dan,” he folds his menu, sets it down over his bread plate. “If you’re worried about the prices, don’t be, I can afford it,” he gives me an appraising look, though I don’t think my expression has changed. “If you’re really uncomfortable, we can go somewhere else, I just wanted to take you somewhere nice. I don’t want you to be-”

“No! No,” I interrupt, disappointed at the way his eyebrows scrunch. _True, this place is way outside my usual comfort zone, but…_ “It’s really alright, just a little nicer than what I’m used to. Broke college student, and all,” I force a chuckle, and Phil’s frown flips on its head. My heart sort of does the same.

“Okay,” he looks satisfied, nodding at my menu. “Anything catch your eye?” _You_ is my immediate reaction, though I bite my lip and manage to keep it from falling off my tongue. To be honest, I haven’t really had a chance to look; instead of scanning the choices, I scan for the cheapest entree.

“The chicken looks good,” I point out, still a little taken aback by the price. _And it’s the least expensive, holy shit._ Phil lifts an eyebrow, then parts his lips like he’s about to speak, but clamps them shut a moment later.

“ _Bonsoir,_ sirs, can I interest you in anything to drink?” I won’t lie, I did jump a little at the sudden appearance of the waiter at my shoulder, and I don’t miss the smirk Phil sends my way.

“Dan, whatever you’d like,” he gives me a soft look, but I get the ‘ _please, order something_ ’ undertones - not forceful, just encouraging.

“Uh, do- I mean, what kind of red wine do you have?” I hope I sound sophisticated enough, though I really don’t know too much about wine. I realize my mistake when the man recites a veritable laundry list of brands I’ve never heard of, along with dates and descriptions - _really, it tastes like earth, vanilla, and black cherry? -_ and Phil must catch something in my expression that I _desperately_ hope the waiter doesn’t.

“We’ll have a bottle of the Cabernet Sauvignon, and two glasses,” the waiter nods and leaves, and I exhale a breathy laugh.

“Thanks, I should’ve expected that,” my fingers trail along the edge of the menu, closed now, as I try to shake the nerves tingling on my skin. I am very far outside my element.

“He was kind of being a dick, I think he saw you were uncomfortable,” Phil tilts his head, lips pursed, and my eyes go wide. _Fuck, I knew someone would notice. I don’t belong here._ The ambient warmth of the restaurant is making me feel very hot, and I duck my head; my napkin is suddenly _incredibly_ fascinating.

“Your wine, sirs,” the waiter returns with the bottle, pouring Phil a sip and waiting as he tastes it. At his nod, our glasses are both filled, and the bottle is placed in an ice bucket off to the side of the table. “Are you ready to order?” He returns, hands clasped behind his back as he stares pointedly at Phil.

“Dan, have you decided?” I almost frown, because he knows I have, until I catch the look Phil sends my way. He’s fighting back a grin.

“Actually,” I flip my menu open, leaning over to indicate I want to point something out to the waiter. “This rat-a-tool, what all is in this?” I have to stifle my own giggle - just mispronouncing the word is enough to earn a huff of annoyance from the man, though he obliges to describe the dish, and I hum as if lost in thought.

“Any other questions, sirs?” _Wow, one horrible pronunciation and he’s already wound that tight?_ I glance over at Phil, who only gives me a subtle nod. 

“Well, I thought the rat-a-tool was going to have more meat in it, so now I’m deciding between the beef...uh, bower-gig-nun? Did I say that correctly? And the duck con-fett. Which would you recommend?” I can actually _see_ the way the man’s ears turn red, though he does an impressive job of hiding his frustration in every other aspect. 

“The beef _bourguignon_ ,” he emphasizes, and Phil coughs rather unsubtly across from me, “is a local favorite, though I’d say I personally prefer the _confit_ ,” he points at the menu, where I don’t miss the price - the confit is slightly more expensive, and I glance up to find the waiter grinning at me - it’s far from pleasant.

“Oh, no, Dan,” Phil frowns at me from across the table. “No, the confit and bourguignon here are-” he looks over at the waiter with a tight smile, “I’ll take you to _Le Royaume_ next week,” he finishes, and it’s taking every ounce of my acting skills - limited though they are - to do nothing more than nod solemnly.

“In that case, I believe I’ll take the chicken?” I give him a pointed look, long enough for the waiter to follow my gaze, and Phil nods emphatically once he has his audience. “The chicken, then,” I close my menu, doing my best to portray an air of innocence.

Phil orders, though it’s a much quicker affair, and the waiter takes his leave. When Phil’s eyes lock with mine, it takes us all of a second to break down in hiccupy, muffled laughter.

“The- the, did you- his-,” I can’t even get words out, but Phil’s nodding around his own giggles.

“His _face_!” He whisper-shouts across the table, reaching for his wine in a sad attempt to cover his dissipating chuckles. I do the same.

“Oh, it actually _does_ taste a bit like cherries,” I comment, though I really know nothing about wine. Phil takes another sip and smiles.

“Yeah, cherries and _charcoal_ and _puppies_ and _crisps_ ,” Phil adds, and I almost spit out my wine. 

“No, see I’m sensing more of a _full grown dog_ bouquet, maybe a hint of burnt toast,” I offer, giggling behind my glass.

“No, no, that’s a _real_ one,” Phil objects, and my eyebrows arch up my forehead - _really? Burnt fucking toast?_ “Besides, it’s much more of a...cookie dough, if we’re talking pastries. Or maybe…” he trails off, then his eyes go wide and he leans in. “ _Red velvet cake_ ,” he grins, then sits back, apparently satisfied. I have no clue if he’s being serious anymore, so I just smile back and take a sip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Fractal: a self-similar geometric shape (one that appears similar at all levels of magnification)_


	11. Paradox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the meal, they head back.

The rest of the meal is surprisingly pleasant; it seems the waiter decided on being begrudgingly polite after our little act. And the food…

“ _Phil,_ ” I realize it comes out as more of a moan, decidedly unattractive around the bite in my mouth. “This is _amazing_!” I whisper it, because I don’t want the waiter to hear. Phil’s eyes go wide, though, and he coughs for a moment before giving me an appraising look. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” his voice is low, and I can’t place the tone, but I’m too enamored with the chicken to bother thinking about it for long. I finish in record time, actually licking my lips - they taste of earthy herbs and spices. Phil’s just staring, so I lean back in the chair and glance down at the table - _at least he’s almost done as well._ Sitting in silence would be _horribly_ awkward. I reach for a sip of my wine - we’ve finished the bottle, and I’m feeling a bit light and floaty, aside from the weight in my stomach from the fucking _fantastic_ meal.

As I lift the glass to my lips, Phil gestures at someone behind me - the waiter, I assume - to bring the check. In moments, there’s a bill on the table that Phil snatches before I can even take a peek, then he’s pulling out his wallet and handing the card and receipt directly to the waiter. I give him a small frown once I swallow my sip, though I should’ve expected he wouldn’t let me see how exorbitant the total was.

We leave hand in hand, though his wraps around my waist the moment we step outside, and I feel warm despite the evening chill; it reminds me of last night - _holy shit, that was only last night?_ \- when I’d been draped across him in my bed.

“So,” Phil’s voice beside me pulls me into the present, “it’s about ten, how early do I need to have you back?” When I turn, I’m met with bright blue eyes that are _far_ closer than I expected, though he isn’t leaning over - apparently, I’m just not used to having someone _this_ close.

“Well, I don’t have any classes on Fridays, so…” I trail off, letting him fill in the blanks. _Whatever you want, wherever you want me, whenever._ I hope my look conveys as much.

“Oh, you’re _absolutely_ staying the night, then,” his voice is low again, sending a shiver up my spine, and I have no intention of blaming the cool breeze. “If you want, that is?” His hand, which had been gripped tightly at my hip until this point, loosens, and his confident tone wavers.

“I want,” I blurt out. “I- I _do_ want, uh, that. Yes, I would like that,” I finally manage to get the words in order, form a coherent response, and Phil giggles at my side. 

“Too much wine?” He teases, but I shake my head.

“No, you just make me nervous,” I slam my free hand over my mouth, peeking out of the corner of my eye. _Fucking hell, maybe it_ was _too much wine for being in any control of my words around Phil._ He just smirks at me, tugging me back toward him so our hips are pressed together. 

We walk like that for another few minutes, until a strange buzz makes me jump back in shock. 

“Phone,” Phil laughs, digging in his pocket, and I pout at him. We’ve stopped just outside some of the bars I used to frequent, but I can’t take my eyes off Phil - he’s frowning down at the screen, then he glances up, and I can see the apology written on his face before he even asks.

“Go ahead, it’s fine,” I smile, because it _is_ fine. Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so fine in my entire _life._ I let myself stare a little longer as he steps away, pacing and talking to whoever’s on the other line. He doesn’t look distressed, fortunately, but I can tell it’s not a casual call - his lips are pursed, and he’s nodding between words, like someone’s monologuing on the other end; I only pick up on his occasional hums of acknowledgment, “of course” and “right, yeah”. 

When the call neither immediately ends nor becomes any more interesting, I turn my attention toward the bars, shoving my hands into my pocket; I’m suddenly feeling a bit chilly.

“Dan?” A voice makes me spin, then my cheeks flush red.

“Oh, uh, hey Jake, what’s up?” I do my best to feign nonchalance, though my skin crawls when his eyes rove my body. He’s sauntering out of a bar, only stopping once he’s gotten uncomfortably close. It’s strange, because _objectively_ nothing has changed - he’s still hot, still the same guy I hooked up with last weekend - but at the same time, _everything_ has changed. 

“Finally decide to come find me, then? I knew you couldn’t stay away,” a hand reaches up, tracing along the edge of my jaw, and I jerk back on instinct. His voice is low, a grating approximation of Phil’s just a minute ago. _Phil_.

“No, I’m actually…out,” his eyes don’t leave my lips, “with someone,” I add, and he fixes me with a harsh green gaze; his posture changes in a heartbeat, muscles tense and jaw locked.

“Oh? Someone finally took pity on you, then?” I expected it, I really did, but it’s still a low blow. _He’s just lashing out because he wanted me to himself._ The argument sounds hollow, though I know it’s true, and I can feel the beginnings of a pit opening up in my stomach.

“No, someone finally got _lucky_ enough,” Phil’s voice behind me is a fucking _godsend_ , and I nearly melt when his arm wraps my waist again. “Shame,” he mutters, just loud enough for Jake to hear.

“Shame about what, that you got stuck with my leavings?” I cringe at the implication, suddenly feeling gross all over. _I let this guy touch me? Fuck me?_ A part of me wants to pull away from Phil. _You shouldn’t have to touch me when this asshole already did._

“Shame that you’re stuck pining after someone you’ll never get,” Phil shrugs, tugging me along down the pavement and past the bar. Jake throws some insult I can’t quite make out, but doesn’t come after us. I’m torn between relief and disappointment - _I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he’s not really willing to fight for me._

“You didn’t have to...uh, I could’ve handled that,” I mumble, embarrassed now that he had to come to my rescue. That I was grateful he showed up. _What a wuss I am._

“And I can face down a rabid badger by myself, but I sure as hell wouldn’t mind help,” Phil chuckles, and I can feel the weight in my chest lift a little. “Alright if I ask who that guy was? He looked familiar.” His tone is still light, and I exhale. _I can say no._ But I would rather be honest.

“That guy, from the first night, the one who, uh, kissed your hand?” It feels weird to acknowledge it aloud, but he blinks a few times before nodding in recognition.

“So you went out with him, then?” Nothing about Phil’s stance changes, but I can see the slight twinge in his jaw. 

“Well…” I keep my eyes on his face, watching for the minute reactions. “I sort of hooked up with him. Last weekend.” If possible, his jaw clenches tighter, though it relaxes a moment later.

“Okay,” is the only response I get, but his thumb has started rubbing circles on my hip.

“‘Okay’? That’s it?” My eyebrows scrunch in confusion. _Shouldn’t he be annoyed? Mad, even? Jealous, maybe?_ I ask as much.

“Well, for starters, we never really defined-” he cuts off, gesturing between us, and I nod. And swallow against the lump in my throat. _No, we didn’t._ “And it was before...most of this?” Again, the gesture, and I nod. “And let’s be honest, it didn’t look like you were having a great time back there,” another chuckle, perhaps a little forced but mostly genuine.

“No,” I agree, scoffing, “he’s kind of a dick,” I add.

“And what about me?” His voice is full of artificial levity, and I take a steadying breath. 

“You are...something else,” I exhale the words, feeling my cheeks flush at the admission, though I’ve hardly _said_ anything. When I’m met with silence, I glance over to see Phil just beaming, staring straight ahead; it’s contagious, and I find myself grinning at the pavement as we walk.

We finally come to a stop in a strikingly familiar place: the swanky hotel from earlier this week. _What…_

“Okay, this is going to sound weird,” Phil must’ve already caught the look on my face - scrunched brows and lips parted to ask. “I sort of live here,” he pulls back slightly, eyes flicking between mine to gauge my reaction. _He_ lives _here?_ I manage to blink a couple times, trying to force the information to fit in with what I already know about Phil. I turn into a fish for a moment, mouth opening and closing as I try to decide what exactly to ask. Until Phil’s hand covers it, and I squint at him.

“Before you ask, yes I’m serious, no I’m not some weird serial killer, no I don’t have a secret family, yes I live alone, and yes that’s why I brought you here the other day,” his hand is still over my mouth, though he’s clearly finished, so I flick my tongue out and graze his palm. He pulls back with a disgusted noise, though it’s shortly followed by a laugh. “Does that about cover it?” He’s wiping the hand on his jeans, so I purse my lips. _No._

“Are you leaving?” _Because god, that would be just my luck: finding a guy I might actually...well, yeah. Finding a guy like Phil and having him just slip through my fingers._ I wait, watching as he tilts his head just slightly, brows pulling together.

“Leaving?” I nod, then swallow, hoping the words don’t get stuck in my throat on the way out.

“Yeah, leaving. Are you living in a hotel because you’ll be gone soon, off to somewhere else? Or...I don’t know, going home?” The words swirl in the air around us, threatening to choke me, and my voice might have broken somewhere in there. Now Phil’s eyebrows arch, and he lets out a soft huff of laughter.

“No, no, I’m not going anywhere,” then arms wrap me tightly, and he’s pulling me into his chest, and I just bury my face in the crook of his neck for a while; it’s warm, comforting - I didn’t realize I needed it, but I’m so glad for it. For the hug, for the words. For Phil.

“Kay,” I manage after a moment, lips moving against his shoulder; when Phil pulls back, I’m already cold. I think a whine actually escapes my throat; my face flushes with heat, and I wish I could grab the sound from the air and shove it back down.

“Come on,” Phil chuckles, a full, bright sound, and tugs me by the hand. The doorman nods as we pass, and it hits me that _he lives here, these people must know him._ He drags me to the elevators, and we step inside one. It’s glass on one side, with a view of a large carpeted space below; it’s not hard to spot the double doors that lead to the lounge, as they’re now swung wide open and people drift in and out.

The ground disappears below us as we ascend, higher than I expected, and I finally turn back to look at Phil. And the button he’s pressed. My eyes widen, giving him a pointed stare.

“The top floor?” _Damn, he wasn’t exaggerating when he said he could afford that fancy dinner, I guess._ Phil’s cheeks go pink and he stares at the floor, and I decide it’s probably the cutest thing I’ve seen in a while. _Well, since the last time he blushed, or laughed, or...did anything, really._

“Uh, yeah,” he trails off, mumbling something that’s covered by the sound of the elevator door opening. 

“Hmm?” I step out beside him, trying to catch his eye, though he seems dead set on the door at the end of the hall; I’m met with a very determined silence, so I nudge Phil a few times until he finally looks over. “What’d you say?” I bump him again for emphasis.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry,” I can feel the warmth radiating off him, and his cheeks match the crimson accents of the restaurant we ate in earlier. I rush ahead of him, blocking the door to what must be his room.

“I’m not moving til you tell me,” I let my arms splay out across the entrance, swinging my hip to the side when he tries to get past me and to the doorknob. “I’m serious!” I laugh, though. Then his hands are on my hips, doing his best to push me aside, and we’re both giggling so hard that I can’t put up much of a fight.

Instead of just moving me out of the way, he pulls me away from the door completely; then I’m pinned against the wall, with his hips pressed against mine and his lips less than an inch away. Breathing suddenly seems overrated. For me, at least, because Phil lets out a slow breath that brushes gently against my mouth.

“Maybe I should just show you?” The words aren’t meant to be seductive, but his voice is quiet and he’s so close, and I am _very_ excited to see what’s behind that door now. With my brain barely functioning, all I can manage is a nod.

Then he disappears, and I frown; my heart’s racing at a mile a minute, though, when he swings the door open and gestures for me to enter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Paradox: a statement that appears to contradict itself, suggesting a solution which is actually impossible_


	12. Theorem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil's place.

I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting - wine has my brain still a bit fuzzy, though it’s clearing - but it certainly wasn’t this: the space is _huge_ , an open area with floor-to-ceiling windows connected to a sleek, modern kitchen, a spiral staircase leading up to a second floor that overlooks the lounge, and a few doors off to the other side that must lead to other extra rooms. _Holy shit, he’s fucking loaded._

“So, uh, my parents own the hotel,” Phil mumbles, but this time I manage to catch the words. _Oh. That would definitely explain the penthouse suite, jesus christ._ Having had their fill of the immense space, my eyes drift over to Phil. Phil, who’s staring down at his feet, twisting his lips, and generally looking as uncomfortable as I felt in that fancy restaurant.

“So do I get the grand tour?” I offer, trying to balance my curiosity with a casual tone; I hate that he looks so out of place in his own home. His eyes meet mine, and I offer a smile, glad when he returns it.

Apparently, his idea of a tour is rushing through every space and pointing out the most arbitrary facts.

“So here’s my office, basically the editing room,” he swings one of the lounge’s adjoining doors open, “that chair is new, because I snapped the leg off the last one by accident!” I lift my brows, then switch my expression to match his serious look, nodding solemnly.

“And…here!” He pushes open another door off the lounge, this one full to the brim with game consoles, _another_ PC, and stacks of games. “I made a game myself, once, when I was like fifteen,” he notes offhand, then drags me toward the staircase.

“Upstairs are a few more rooms, but I obviously only use the one,” he opens the first door we reach, revealing an unexpectedly familiar space. _Oh. I’ve been wondering what this looked like outside his videos._ Not bothering to ask permission, I step inside, letting my eyes rove the multitude of posters and knick knacks scattered around his bedroom. 

“It’s so _you_ ,” I chuckle, relieved to find that _this place_ is exactly the Phil I recognize, the Phil I’m entirely head over heels for. Something about all the posh, rich nonsense earlier had set me on edge, but this...this is _Phil._ I mean to sit on his mattress, atop the comforting green and blue duvet, but I end up flopping down on my back, staring up at the posters that have continued from his wall to adorn the ceiling. 

“I’m glad you like it,” my view is eclipsed by a shock of black fringe and bright blue eyes, then he’s leaning down, closer. Warm lips brush mine for just a moment, then he’s leaning back.

I don’t let him, obviously; my previously paralyzed arms find purchase on his back and neck and pull him down fully on top of me, bring his mouth back to mine. _How is it possible for a_ kiss _to feel like this?_ It’s fireworks in my chest and sparklers on the tips of my fingers and possibly a literal _fire_ in my head - nothing seems to be working up there, so I have to assume everything has gone up in flames.

By the time he pulls back again - I _let_ him pull back - my lungs demand air, and warm, fast breaths mingle in the small space between us. _Fuck, I could do this forever_. 

“I was going to ask if that was alright, but…” Phil trails off with a smirk, and my cheeks flush in the best possible way. Instead of responding, I roll him off me and set my knees on either side of his thighs, effectively pinning him to the bed from the waist down. 

Apparently, Phil’s not a fan of letting someone else take control: he sits up, wiggling his hips and pouting at me. When I push his shoulders, intending to get him laying back on the mattress, he leans back on his hands to keep himself up.

“ _Please_ ,” I let out a breathy whine, though I’m far beyond caring about sounding so desperate. “I have thought about this a _lot_ ,” my hands drift down his chest, to his waist, and it’s immensely satisfying to feel him shudder under my fingers. He’s laid back a moment later, and I work my way back up his chest, undoing the buttons on his shirt as I go.

During my progress, I take a quick glance up from my fumbling to catch him watching me intently; if my blush ever left, it’s returned in full force at the promise behind his dark blue eyes. As I reach the last button, my fingers have all but forgotten how to function, because _god, has he been watching me like that this whole time?_ I bite my lip, finally managing to bare his chest and trail my fingers along his skin as slowly as I dare.

I’m surprised by an actual _growl_ , then Phil’s flipped me back over; we hang halfway off the bed for a moment that involves lips and hands and at least one under-the-breath swear, then we both slide off abruptly; he lands heavily on top of me. 

“ _Ahh_ , fuck,” this swear is decidedly _not_ under my breath, and Phil does his best to scramble off me.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” He’s doing an excellent job of looking concerned - brows scrunched, mouth parted just a bit - though I can see the sparkle of humor hiding in his eyes. In a moment, we’re both laughing - he’s doubled over and I’m struggling to breathe properly, so I let my head fall back against the plush carpet beside his bed.

“I’m- I’m fine,” I finally manage, staring up at the ceiling and blinking away the legitimate _tears_ that have collected at the corners of my eyes. Phil stands, reaching a hand down to help me up; when I stand, I wince - nothing’s truly hurt, but I may end up with some bruises in the morning.

“Are you sure?” Phil’s eyes go dark again, then he has me pinned to the mattress once again. “Just tell me where it hurts, I promise I’ll make it better,” his lips find my forehead, then my cheek, then my chin, then my jaw, then my neck, and-

“Oh _fuck,_ ” is all I get out, because this will _definitely_ leave a mark: he’s sucking at the space between my neck and shoulder, occasionally swiping his tongue across my collarbone, until he seems to decide he doesn’t have enough access.

My shirt comes off in a blur - I really can’t remember anything aside from Phil’s hands, lips, tongue - and he finds new territory to leave his mark on; when his fingers pause at the waistband of my jeans, I nod before he even has a chance to ask. The breath from his chuckle raises goosebumps across my skin.

“Oh, f- _fuck_ off,” I snap, though it comes out hoarse and on the edge of an unintentional moan. Apparently, Phil’s decided to take matters into his own hands, and he’s looking up at me with a wicked smirk.

“Fuck you _and_ get you off? Yeah, I suppose I could do both.” 

\---------------------------

It’s funny how you can go through your entire life thinking of something as _amazing_ , only to wake up one day and have your expectations be blown completely out of the water - the funniest bit of it, though, is that you never really _know_ that’ll happen, there’s no way to predict it. You just open your eyes, go about your day, and then...everything changes.

Yes, the sex was utterly indescribable, but I’m not all that surprised - this stupid, silly epiphany has more to do with everything _after_ : sex, for me, has always been an ending, the last page of a book before you go to bed. Phil has other ideas.

“Still awake?” His voice is soft in my ear; he’s curled around me this time, chest flush against my back and arms wrapping me tightly. I hum in response, still a little too wired to fall properly to sleep.

“What’s up?” I ask after a moment has passed and Phil still hasn’t spoken. I keep my voice low as well, though it’s not like anyone’s around to hear. _Thank god._ My cheeks flush just remembering how _not quiet_ I’d been.

“You know...I mean, I guess...uh, I don’t know, never mind,” I turn to face him, searching for a hint of pale blue. Once I find his eyes, I’m able to orient myself, and I reach a hand up to his chin to turn it toward me. My thumb brushes across his lip, mostly to make sure I’m headed in the right direction, but his breath against it is oddly comforting. Moments later, my mouth replaces my thumb, and I leave him with a brief, gentle kiss.

“What is it?” I ask once I’ve pulled back, though I let my forehead rest against his as I wait for a response. His eyes open slowly, though they’re fixed on the space between us, and I can see the way hesitation scrunches his face.

“Are we- I mean, do you _want_ to be…” he trails off, eyes flicking up to mine, then he blows out a slow breath that tickles my lips. “I don’t want to just be a one night stand for you,” he frowns, and his gaze hardens just slightly. _Does he really think…?_ “But if that’s all it was, then…” For a moment, all I can do is stare.

“I have no idea what I did to give you that impression, but I would like a _hell_ of a lot more than that,” I say, and my words float in the air. Phil blinks at me. “I _really_ like you,” I add, in case it wasn’t glaringly obvious. Phil’s ensuing grin is so bright I wonder whether the sun’s come up without my knowledge.

Instead of responding, he rolls onto his back, beaming up at the ceiling. Because I can, I follow his movement, hugging myself close to his chest and draping an arm across his stomach; from this new angle, I can hear his heartbeat, and it’s immensely soothing. Even though it’s certainly going a bit fast. 

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Phil’s voice is still quiet, but the word strikes a chord in my chest that resonates through my bones and makes my insides squirm; it’s a frightening prospect, so I fall back on sarcasm.

“Of course not,” I scoff, “there’s no scientific proof for it.” _Calm down. Focus on his heart._

“I don’t either,” he laughs, and it rumbles against my ear. The room quiets for a few moments, filled only with our breathing. “But…” my own heart races in my chest, and I’m not sure what to think, what he’s going to say; _my expectations are usually pretty far off the mark._

“But?” There’s, yet again, a prolonged silence; I rub my thumb against his hip in what I hope is a comforting - or encouraging - fashion. He matches my movement on my arm.

“Maybe...I don’t know, there’s a point where a coincidence starts to feel like _more_ than just a coincidence,” I glance up to find him watching me, but he turns back to the ceiling as soon as I meet his gaze. 

“Such as?” I know _exactly_ what he’s getting at, what he’s implying, and my heart can’t decide whether it wants to run for the hills or float up to the clouds. 

“Well, I met _you_ , and I don’t think that was just random,” he’s basically whispering, now, and I exhale sharply when he pulls me closer to his chest - it’s a brief movement, simple words, but my head is spinning and my cynicism rears its ugly head.

“So, what then? We were ‘ _destined to meet_ ’?” I regret the dismissiveness laced through the words as soon as I say them; the light in his eyes dulls. “I mean, in some parallel universe, one different decision and we’d never have met,” I mean to soften the blow, but he only closes his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. My head rises with his chest, falls with it.

When he turns fully toward me, lips only an inch away and forehead suddenly resting against mine, I still completely - but he’s just...grinning at me. Like I said something truly hilarious, and he’s holding back a laugh. 

“No, I think I’d find you anyway. Or maybe you’d find me,” he considers this, eyes flicking off to the side before they return to hold my gaze. “But we’d find each other, I think. Somehow, at some point. Maybe not the same way, or at the same time, but I think I’d be restless until I found you,” he’s off in his own world, and I can see the gears turning in his head as he decides all this, but all I can think about is how he feels. How _I_ feel.

I’m expecting to feel overwhelmed, to want to get out of this bed and rush back to my flat and curl up in my bed by myself to digest all this, but I _don’t_. I just feel...at home. He could very well be telling me he’s a serial killer and I’d still probably want to fall asleep in his arms. 

“Dan?” I must’ve fully spaced out, because my eyes refocus to find bright blue watching me closely. “That was too much, again, wasn’t it,” he’s drawing back now, just a little, so I reach my free hand around to the back of his neck and pull him into a slow kiss - it’s soft, languid, sweet; I could get lost in it and never feel anything but happy.

“I think science says otherwise,” I note once we come up for air, “but it’s nice to think that every version of us, in every alternate universe, is as lucky as we are. That every iteration of me is as lucky as I am,” I add, though it’s absurdly sappy. This feels like a time, a place that I can be sappy. 

“Guess we’ll never know,” Phil’s grinning, his lips tight against my mouth as he leans back in. _Maybe this is what soulmates feel like - home_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Theorem: a general proposition not self-evident but proved by a chain of reasoning; a truth established by means of accepted truths_
> 
> Alright, lovelies - this was originally going to be the final chapter. So if you're satisfied, be satisfied. The epilogue is...well, I just hope you don't hate me too much for it!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, I love and appreciate every single one of you with all my heart.


	13. Infinite (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Infinite: limitless or endless in space, extent, or size; impossible to measure or calculate_

I wake with a strange flavor on my tongue, something sweet I can’t place. I also wake alone, though I can’t quite recall why I expected not to. The earthy hues of my room come into focus around me, filtering through my eyes and into my brain past a haze. _What..._ the tail end of my dream slips away as I try to grab it; I only manage to catch bits and pieces.

 _Phil._ I scramble from my bed, reaching for my laptop where I’ve left it discarded on my floor; Skype kindly informs me I have three messages already, and I scan them with a grin on my face.

 **Phil:** _can’t believe ur coming here today_

**Phil: __**_i literally couldn’t sleep im so excited ^___^_

**Phil: __**_only like 3 more hrs til u leave!!!!_

Today is starting to feel more like a dream than my actual dream had, and I have to triple-check the date before it starts to properly sink in. _October 19th._ I can’t believe I’ll be meeting Phil for real, in person, in less than... _fuck, I have to pack._ Procrastination at it’s finest: I end up shoving all my favorite shirts and jeans into a bag before returning to my laptop.

**Dan: __**_omg i had the weirdest dream last nite O_o u were in it_

**Dan: __**_not at first tho it was like some crazy alternate reality or somethin_

**Phil: __**_NOOOO WAIT u have to tell me IN PERSON since we can DO THAT O.O_

**Dan: __**_hahaha ok its so strange to think im gonna see you in like 4hrs_

**Dan: __**_speakin of which i have to go :( need to get to the station_

**Phil: __**_k cant wait feels like ive known you for EVER but were only meeting now?? O_o_

**Dan: __**_i know???? but i rly have 2 go see u soon ^-^_

Before he can drag me back into conversation - though I could literally talk to him for _ages_ \- I shut the lid of my laptop and take a deep breath. A grin’s plastered on my face, because _fuck_ I really am going to be seeing Phil _in person._ It’s a surreal feeling, and my heart is fluttering in my chest.

\----------------

The entire train journey is full of music and avoiding peasants and trying desperately to calm my crazy nerves, though they’ve only magnified a hundredfold in the past three hours. We’re pulling up to the station now, and I lean my forehead against the window to try to get a view of the platform.

 _He’s actually here._ My heart’s hammering in my chest, because he _actually_ showed up. I mean, he said he would, but still...it didn’t feel real until just now - now it feels _too_ real. I pull back from the window when my breaths fog the plexiglass, blocking my view of Phil. 

The train screeches to a stop, and I stand on wobbly legs, then sling my bag over my shoulder. Breathing suddenly feels like a herculean effort. As does moving.

I’m terrified to look up from my feet as I step onto the platform: first of all, I’m almost _definitely_ going to trip, I’m so nervous, and second of all, if I look up, if I see Phil - if _he_ sees _me_ \- then this will really be happening. _And what if he doesn’t like me?_ It’s a possibility I’ve been trying desperately not to consider, but all my fears come pouring in on a tidal wave of insecurity. 

“Dan?” Apparently, my brain has other ideas, and I look up on instinct. Phil’s walking toward me, sort of fast, and I notice my pace has sped up to match his. I think my bag’s fallen off my shoulder, but I don’t really know because all of a sudden warm arms are wrapped around my back and Phil’s pulling me tight against him and my face is buried in his shoulder and I didn’t realize a person could feel like _home_.

“Phil,” I manage, but it comes out on a breath. It occurs to me that people might be staring, but my eyes are squeezed shut and I couldn’t really care less. We stay that way, frozen, for a few seconds longer. Then Phil pulls back, though his arms don’t leave me right away. _Please never leave._

\------------------

“Are you sure that looks good?” _My cheeks are too red, and I look silly_. “Maybe we should take another one,” I offer, reaching for the trackpad. Phil’s hand beats me to it, though, and he grins over at me from where he’s leaning close to the screen.

“It’s perfect, you look perfect,” if my face was red before, it’s gone twice as hot now. “Besides, I don’t think the rest of the shoppers are too happy with us,” he chuckles, and I peek over my shoulder. “Your account, right?” 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I guess,” the whole thing still feels bizarre, like I’m about to wake up and find this is all in my head. _Maybe it is._

“Okay, let’s go!” I nearly jump when Phil’s hand grabs mine, tugging me out of the store. We’re heading to the sky bar, which makes basically no sense to me, but Phil’s excited for it, so I am too.

We walk in silence for a few minutes while I go over and over this unreal situation. _I’m with Phil, actually here, this is actually happening. I think._

“Something wrong?” Phil’s voice worms in through my thoughts, and his hand brushes my arm; my mouth opens and closes a couple times before I come to a conclusion. 

“No, no, I’m good,” I smile, because _fuck_ if this is a dream, I never want to wake up. “Lost in thought, I guess,” I add.

“Oh! I almost forgot, what was that dream you had earlier?” He’s shaking my arm now, clearly excited, “you said I was in it?” I give myself exactly two seconds to get lost in his bright blue eyes before clearing my breath and trying to think. _Dream. What dream? I was...Phil was in it…_

The tiny pieces of the dream I’d managed to salvage have long since disappeared, and I can only blink in response. Phil just chuckles, and I wish I could capture the sound and store it in my head for eternity.

“That’s okay. Besides, I’d rather spend time with you in real life than in a dream anyway! Real-life me is so lucky,” his hand finds mine - just for a moment - and he gives it a quick squeeze; all I can think is _holy shit he wants to spend time with me._ It still doesn’t feel real.

_I hope this isn’t the dream. I should be so lucky._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all _so much_ for reading, lovelies! I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> Of course, I've already got something new in the works. Keep an eye on [my tumblr](https://knlalla.tumblr.com/) for when you can expect that to be up!
> 
> I appreciate each and every one of y'all, and thank you so much for being such wonderful people!
> 
> KL

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies! If you'd like, feel free to give it a cheeky [reblog on tumblr](https://knlalla.tumblr.com/post/171963271792/axiom-completed)


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